INDIANOLA 



AND 



OTHER POEMS. 



BY 



JEFF. McLEMORE. 







'fl -,'» J, ^ ^J, JJ, JJ- ,>», ,1 



8an Antonio, Texas. 

Mavkhk'K-Ci.akkk Company. 

MCMIV. 



^ 






LIBRARY «f CONGRESS 


Two Cepies 


Received 


MAR 18 


1904 


«-\ CopyrighT 
^ COPY 


E^try 

'Al. L 

V 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1904. 

By Maveriok-Clakke Co. 

In the office of Librarian of Congress, at Wasliington. 

All rights reserved. 



t t C f c 






DEDICATION, 



To Miss Clara Driscoli, whose heroic efforts to 
preserve from time's ravages the historic build- 
ing of the Alamo should make her name 
immortal; and to Frank H. Bushick, whose 
friendly interest in my literary labors has been 
to me the source of many pleasant reflections, 
I dedicate this little volume of passing thoughts, 
woven at random into idle rhymes : : : : 

AiiKfin, '/'fXds, (Jcf. W, m>:i. 



INDEX. 

Page 

AUTHOR'S PREFACE ix 

INDIANOLA 1 

JUVENILE POEMS:— 

To Etta 11 

My Mother's Picture 12 

The Emigrant at Wyandotte 13 

The Negro's Lament 14 

Fare Thee Well 16 

When I Shall Die 18 

To The Old Year 19 

Impromptu Versicles 20 

Stanzas For Music .21 

Impromptu Lines 22 

Old Songs 23 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS: 

Mary 25 

The Lass of Kyle 26 

Impromptu Lines 28 

Lines to Miss Annie S 28 



vi INDEX. 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:— 

Lines to Jefferson Davis 29 

Flora Lee 30 

Stanzas to the Blanco River 32 

The Withered Leaf 33 

In Memoriam 34 

We Parted in Silence 36 

Stanzas to 37 

To "Bessie Smith" 39 

My Mother's Grave 40 

To Albert Nance 41 

Flirting 44 

If I Had Known 46 

Farewell to Kyle 48 

Stanzas to 53 

La Belle Victoria . 54 

To M. M 55 

Stanzas for Music .57 

"Eloise" 57 

Those Eyes of Blue 58 

Stanzas for Music 59 

To Genevieve 60 

Stanzas to 61 

Stanzas to M. T 63 

Stanzas for Music 64 



INDEX. vii 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS: — 

Page 

Though Far Away 65 

To A Young Lady 66 

Stanzas to 67 

Stanzas to 68 

To "Florence" 70 

Retrospection 71 

To Genevieve 73 

To "Florence" 75 

To " Florence" 76 

To Dora 77 

To A Youthful Friend 80 

^'Remember Thee?" 83 

Stanzas for Music 84 

Lines (Accompanying a Bunch of Roses) 85 

Versicles 86 

Stanzas to 86 

At Evening Time 87 

Frances 88 

Stanzas to 90 

Stanzas for Music 91 

Fragment 92 

Time's Changes 92 

Stanzas for Music 93 

The Storm King 94 



viii INDEX. 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:— 

Page 

Lines (To one who will understand them) 98 

Stanzas to 99 

Stanzas to (On hearing that she was ilb . . . 100 

To M. C 101 

To A Southern Girl 102 

Sweet Beulah Rowe 102 

Stanzas to Clara 104 

Contessa 105 

A Summer Idyl 105 

DESTINY 107 

LOVE'S SORROW Ill 

THE WANDERER 119 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE. ix 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 

Unlike some scribblers, I am fwi complying- with the 
*'urg-ent requests" of friends in giving- to the public this 
little volume of "passing thoughts, woven at random into 
idle rhymes." Years ag-o, while still a boy, the following: 
lines from one of Burns' poems made a deep impressioa 
on my heart and mind: 

"E'en then a wish, I mind its pow'r, 
A wish that to my latest'hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast, 
That I for poor old Scotland's sake 
Some useful plan or book should make, 

Or sing a song at least." 

Often did I repeat these lines tomyself, each time substituting 
for the name of Scotland that of Texas. I state this merely 
to show that in early life I cherished the hope that some 
day I would "make a useful plan or book," or maybe "sing 
a song" that would bring- a moment's pleasure to some 
g-enerous heart, or cause the face of some kind friend to 
beam with a genial smile. 

As I grew older, however, the thought of becoming an 
author took a more serious turn, and I saw more clearly 
the shoals and breakers I would most likely encounter in 
striving to reach the goal of my youth's ambition. It is true, 
I had a very strong desire to see my efforts in book form, 
but the fear of the critic's lash prevailed over my wishes 
and I contented myself with publishing a few of them in 
the newspapers, but without my name. 

A year or two ago a lady friend of mine, and for whose 
friendship I have the very highest regard, suggested that I 



X AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 

collect my poems (if poems they may be called) and publish 
them in a volume. In offering her sugg-estions she quoted 
one of my own couplets: 

Fools there are in every age. 
And I but fill my destined page, 

and said, with all the candor of her generous nature, that 
she did not think I would ever fill 7ny destined page unless 
I published a book. It is but an easy matter to convince a 
rhymester that he is a poet, and the persuasion of my good 
friend readily revived my boj^hood's dream. It was then, for 
the first time in many years, that I gave serious considera- 
tion to the thought of "printing a book," but when I had 
about made up my mind to act on my friend's suggestion, 
I was confronted with a difficulty I had not before thought 
of. How was I to collect my poems and get them together? 
was the question that puzzled me. I had retained but few 
copies of the ones that had appeared in print, and many 
which I regarded as among my best, had completely escaped 
my memory. What, then, was I to do? Here again my 
friend came forward with another suggestion, with the 
result that I addressed letters, as she suggested, to a num- 
ber of acquaintances, and these kind acquaintances 
responded by sending me pieces they had generously pre- 
served in their scrap-books. In this way I got together a 
fairly good number of my poems, but much to my regret I 
have not been able to obtain copies of several that I was 
anxious to include in this collection. This much by way of 
excuse for giving to the public this little volume, and now 
a word of excuse for the poems themselves: 

The critical reader will no doubt discover faults in 
everything I have written, for I wrote just as the "spirit 
moved me," and often without following the strict rules of 
poetry. He may also find that "many of my pieces are 
poor imitations of the poems of others, whose thoughts and 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE. xi 

style I have borrowed." In vitidication of myself ag-ainst 
this charge, I will say, first: In my more youthful days 
Burns and Byron were my constant companions. I fairly 
lived on them, and so completely absorbed them, that it 
would be a matter of surprise, rather than otherwise, did I 
not find myself fluttering along the ground over which they 
had soared. Second: The style of Burns and Byron did 
not belong to them exclusively, but was the style of all 
times and ages. They had no set style, generally speaking, 
and wrote but few poems that could not find a counterpart 
in poems written before their day, as far as the style of 
verse is concerned. 

Whenever I have used the thoughts of another, I have, 

when conscious of it, given the original in a foot note. In 
defending myself against the charge of plagiarism, which 
will doubtless be made by the discerning critic, I will quote 
the language of England's greatest poet. In the "Conver- 
sations of Lord Byron, by Thomas Medwin, Esq.," Byron 
is credited with the following: 

"I am taxed with being a plagiarist, when I am least 
conscious of being one; but I am not scrupulous, I own, 
when I have a good idea, how I came into possession of it. 
How can I tell to what extent Shakespeare is indebted to 
his contemporaries whose works are now lost? * 4t * 
The invocation of the witches was, we know, a servile 
plagiarism from Middleton. Authors were not so squeam- 
ish about borrowing from one another in those days." 

Now, if the greatest poetical genius of all admits hav- 
ing borrowed the ideas of another, why cannot I — I, a mere 
insect compared to him — why cannot I be permitted to do 
the same? My friends, I know, will throw the mantle of 
charity over my short-comings, and as for my enemies — 
well perhaps they can write better than I have written, in 
which event I will wait and see before committing to paper 
an opinion that might excite unnecessary anger. An 
author's works, when given to the public, become public 



xii AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 

property, and such now is this little volume. I do not hope 
for it immortality, but if one line of all I have written 
should bring- a pleasure to the heart of some g^ood friend, 
then I will be richly compensated for my pains, and will 
feel that I have not altogether scribbled in vain. 

Some of the poems in this little book will doubtless 
meet the g^aze of those who inspired them. These poems. I 
hope, will cause no regret, and I will be more than grateful 
should they provoke a smile. Other eiforts, and efforts, too, 
I considered among- my strongest, have been suppressed, 
because they contained "barbarisms" that were calculated 
to offend and perchance wound those at whom they were 
aimed. With this, I cotnmit my first, and perhaps last, 
volume to a public that "rarely blames unjustly," and with 
Southey exclaim: 

"Go, little book, from this my solitude! 

I cast thee on the waters— go thy ways! 
And if, as I believe, thy vein be good, 

The world will find thee after many days." 

Austin, Texas, Sept. 21, 1903. 



INDIANOLA. 



INDIANOLA.' 

"An o'er true tale of flood and tide!" 

"Such is the aspect of this shore; 
'Tis Greece, but living: Greece no more! " 

—Byj'on 

I. 

When some fair maid, the flower of her race, 
Whose charms proclaim her Queen of Love and Grace^ 
By Fate's dread hand is hurled into the grave; 
Or without warning- sinks beneath the wave; 
The dark'ning sorrow of her hapless end 
Falls like a pall o'er each devoted friend. 

1 Indianola was written under rather adverse circumstances and 
at sucli moments as I could steal from my regular duties as editor, 
manajjer and publisher of a weekly paper, to scribble a few lines at a 
time. But little thougrht or care were employed in its execution, and 
ever since I have regretted that my subject was not given more pains. 
Such a theme should have drawn forth every spark of poetry in my 
soul, and "Indianola" should have been a better poem than it is. But 
"what is writ, is writ," so I will let it go, trusting that those who may 
read it will not forget the difficulties under wliich it was written. The 
poem originally appeared with the following dedication: 

To 

MR. AND MRS. J. M. BROWNSON 

whose friendship, even from the day I came to them 

a stranger, lias been to me tli<> source of 

many pleasures tliat will ever 

be bright oases in 

the desert of my memory, 

these disconnected fragments of an "o'er true tale" 

are iriost respectfully inscribed by their 

grateful and ol)lig('d friend, 

Virforia. 'IVxax, Stiiteinh/'r. lss<). The AUTHOR. 



2 INDIANOLA. 

No tears are shed — our deep and silent grief 
In bitter g-roans can only seek relief; 
And as we watch that pulseless form so fair, 
And view death's beauty slowly settling* there, 
A thoug-ht of terror steals across the heart 
Quick as the flash the thunder clouds impart. 
Then kneeling down we look to Heaven and pray; 
"Oh, God! restore to us this silent clay! 
Give back that smile, if but one fleeting hour, 
That we once more might feel its tender power." 
But all is still, that form is cold in death, 
And chilled forever is that fleeting breath; 
No more, no more those lips will ever speak — 
No more will blush that cold and marble cheek. 
No more will glow that dull and listless eye — 
No more that breast will heave a lingering sigh. 
Like flowers that bloom, yet fade at set of sun. 
Her life's dream ended ere it scarce begun. 



II. 



So, Indianola, has it been with thee, 
Thou once fair city by the moonlit sea! 
Thy fame is ended and thy beauty fled — 
Bleak memory calls thee from the silent dead. 
Thy streets are nameless, and the sea-weeds grow 



INDIANOLA. 

Along- thy walks where life was wont to flow. 
Forever dead! fore'er thy dream is o'er! — 
Thou liv'st alone on Memory's barren shore. 
The sun that sets, yet sets to rise ag-ain, 
Will smile the same, yet smile on thee in vain; 
While moonbeams dancing as the billows roar. 
Will seem as brig"ht, yet dance on thee no more. 



III. 



'Tis eve! — Beside the murmuring* sea, 
A thousand hearts beat lig-ht and free; 
A thousand voices fill the air, 
And all is peace and pleasure there. 
On the still bosom of the bay 
The white-wing-ed vessels calmly lay; 
The nig-ht-birds skim the rippling- waves, 
Sweet echoes come from Ocean's caves; 
And Indianola fair and brig-ht, 
Sits peaceful there in the pale moonlig-ht. 
The lamp's burn brig-ht in Pleasure's halls, 
While Beauty from her bower calls; 
Fond pleasure decks each throbbing- brow, 
The lover tells his plig-hted vow; 
All, all is joy and peace serene 
Till sleep, sweet sleep, falls o'er the scene, 



INDIANOLA. 



Then hushed, and still, and heavenly fair. 
Is that loved city sleeping there. 



IV. 



'Tis morn! — The radiant eastern sky 
Is tinted with the rainbow's dye; 
The swan-like vessels rest at ease. 
Scarce swaying- in the fresh'ning- breeze; 
The song--birds sing- from every tree. 
Or bathe their plumag^e in the sea; 
While hurrying" footsteps tread the main, 
And Indianola wakes ag^ain. 
Yes, wakes once more to busy life. 
But wakes, alas! for war and strife; 
For bug-le calls sound from afar. 
The herald of approaching- war. 
The echo leaps from mouth to mouth: 
"Awake! ye heroes of the South!" 
And Indianola's sons go forth 
To fiofht the tumults from the North. 
How swift they went, 'tis vain to tell ! 
For home they foug-ht, and fig-hting- fell; 
And falling-, died in manhood's prime. 
To sleep in some far, distant clime. 
Oh, Indianola! could I trace 



INDIANOLA. 

The glory of that g-lorious race 

Thou g-av'st, when came thy country's call, 

Or view each hero in his fall, 

In deathless strains my song" would be 

For those who died for thine and thee ! 



V. 



O'er the fathomless waters of the dark, blue ocean, 
Like the song- of a bird when its mate is no more; 

When its carols are filled with a soul-sad emotion 
As it fain would call back from the echoless shore. 

One note it had known of the song- that is ended — 

When it sig-hs for that death which can bring- only 
rest. 

So the echo of sweet peace in that moment was 
blended 

While hope turned to g^rief in each fond Southern 
breast. 

And in that dark hour, thoug-h the storm clouds 
were over, 

And the stars breaking* throug-h them seemed ray- 
less and dead, 

Indianola sat there like a g-rief-stricken lover 

When her hero is fallen and all hope is fled. 

She wept for those sons that so proudly she g"ave 

For a cause, which thoug"h lost, was made doubly 
more dear; 



6 INDIANOLA. 

Like a heart-broken mother who weeps at the grave 

Of her heart's fondest treasure, she wept o'er 
their bier. 

Then she turned from a scene that she g"azed on 
with dread, 

She had shed all the tears that she well now mig-ht 
shed; 

War's wild strife is over — the bugle-calls cease — 

Like a dismantled warrior she clasps hands with 
sweet Peace. 

The rose that was withered its verdant leaves 
spread, 

The violet so modest once more lifts its head. 

The sun shines again on that once blighted shore, 

And fair Indianola like the rose blooms once more. 



VI. 



'Tis night! — A dark and angry cloud 
Hangs o'er the city like a shroud; 
The lightning's quick and lurid glare 
On each pale face reveals despair; 
The storm has come! — Wild Ocean's roar 
Breaks with a shriek upon the shore. 
Brave men stand palsied, trembling, pale- 
The mother's prayer, the infant's wail, 
Commingle with mad Ocean's rage 



INDIANOIvA. 

And form a scene on history's pag-e 
More awful than the poet's pen 
Can write; nor can the tongues of men 
Relate that picture of despair 
Which in a moment settled there; 
And many a loved one found a grave 
Fore'er beneath the maddening- wave. ^ 

VII. 

Once more 'tis morn, the brig^ht sun smiles 
In splendor o'er those storm-wrecked isles 2 



1 Indianola had almost recovered from the effects of the Civil War 
and was the most flourishing city along the Texas coast. Her harbor 
was crowded with large ships and ocean steamers, while long trains of 
wagons, many of which came from far beyond the Rio Grande, were 
bearing off her commerce to those who had left their gold in exchange. 
Wealth, health and prosperity reigned on every hand, and she stood 
there beside the ocean the "Queen City of the West." In the height of 
her glory, on the 16th day of September, 1875, a fearful storm swept 
over the city, leaving death and destruction in its wake. This was 
followed by another storm on the 21st day of Augiist, 1886, even more 
destructive than the first, and unhappy Indianola, once the "Queen 
City of the West," was left a spectre of the past— a spectre which comes 
before the vision like the face of a drowning man when he sinks forever 
beneath the cruel waves. 

2 In regard to these islands, three or four in number, the author 
is somewhat in doubt as to whether they were ever inhabited by man. 
They are situated near th(! coast, to tlui soutli of where Indianola stood, 
and produce, or rather did produce, fine pasturage for cattle, .lust 
after the storm of 1875 they pnisented a weird and ghastly appearance, 
being strewn from one end to the other with pieces of wrecked vessels 
and liouses, and the bodies of dead animals. Only two or three human 
bodies lodged on them, and these were wasluMl from Indianola. 



INDIANOLA. 

That stand like sentries in the bay 

Near by where Indianola lay. 

All desolate and bleak they stand, 

Death's shadow traced on every hand, 

While round them moans the plaintive sea, 

As if it felt some sympathy. 

For the dread terror it had broug-ht 

To those within its tempest caught. 

Yet on the beach the scene seems saddest, 

For there old Ocean's waves were maddest; 

And thoug-h the sun shines there as brig-ht. 

To those who live it seems as nig-ht. 

O'er Indianola hang-s a pall 

Dark as the dreary clouds that fall 

O'er battle-fields where thousands slain 

Lie there to rise no more ag"ain. ^ 

Death and Destruction hover round, 

The Ocean chants a dreary sound; 

The father weeps above his child, 

The mother, in distraction wild, 

Seeks out her babe, but seeks in vain. 



1 It is a known fact that nearly every big battle of the Civil War 
was followed by a tremendous rain. To those who witnessed them, the 
clouds producing these rains had about them an unusually dreary and 
sombre appearance. I have often heard old soldiers say that the clouds 
formed (presumably) from the smoke of battles had for them a terror 
the ordinary clouds did not have. 



INDIANOLA. 

Then wring's her hands in woe and pain. 
The proud, the humble share the same, 
So with the sick, the blind the lame; 
No peace is there save with the dead, 
All hope for those who live is fled; 
And Indianola from her throne 
Is claimed by Ocean as its own. 
No brush can paint, no pen can write. 
The sorrow of that dismal nig-ht. 
When storm-wrecked Indianola lay 
A spectre b}' the lonely bay. 

VIII. 

This is the tale as it was told to me 

B}^ one who dwelt there by the treacherous sea. i 

A sad, sad tale, no matter what we say, 

Thoug-h poorly told in this still poorer lay. 

The story of a city once as fair 

As her loved maids who dwelt in pleasure there. 



1 In the month of June, 1889, when I visited Indianola, I was 
deeply impressed with what represented that oiu^e beautiful city. A 
few weather-beaten houses, tenantless and fast {roiny to decay, and the 
white and scarred concrete walls of tlie old court-house, were all that 
renuiined of what was once a city of beautiful homes. For awhile I saw 
no sierns of life, but in wauderinfr around I met an aered, trray-haired 
neerro, who seemed more spectrin than man. He luid been there since 
"before the war," had passed throujjfh both of tlie yrreat storms, and in 
his rude and uiituturefl way lu; told uic the story of ill-fittt'd Indianola. 



10 INDIANOI^A. 

Swept from the earth without a moment's thought, 
Torn from her throne by Ocean's tireless wave; 

A memory of the ruin Terror wroug-ht — 
Sunk, sunk forever in a nameless g'rave! 



JUVENILE POEMS. 11 



JUVENILE POEMS. 

(Written between the ages of eleven and eighteen years.) 

To Etta. ^ 

(The Authors first effort.) 

As twilig-ht bring-s its sweet repose, 

My soul should bapp}^ be; 
But now atid then there comes a thought, 
As if to say that I have wroug-ht. 

Yes, wroug-ht in vain for thee. 



1 When I wrote tlie lines, "To Etta," I was only eleven years of 
age. I composed them after 1 had retired at night and so strange was 
the effect they produced on me that I was thrown into a fever and my 
agitation kept me awake for several hours. I committed the lines to 
memory and the next morning wrote them down. I did not know the 
meaning of the word "wrought" and was overjoyed, on consulting my 
dictionary, to find that it made reason as well as rhyme. The lines were 
inspired by a neighbor girl, a Miss Pope, who was several years my 
senior, but of whom I was passionately fond. This first effort was soon 
followed by otlier attempts at versification but all that came from pen 
at that youtliful age have escaped my memory— all save an acrostic, 
wliich was as follows: 

Etta 1 will love thee ever 
Till the time our hearts shall sever, 
Then VU think of tliee forever 
And forget thee I will never. 

Please remember me my dear, 
Oh. let me ever linger near; 
Please take not another's heart 
Else we be obliged to part. 

The inspirer of my two efforts was the only one I ever permitted to see 
them, and tliis permission was granted her only on the promise that she 
w<;iild ever guard tluMii as a secret. They both i)leas('d and ainuscd her. 
and I will nt-ver forget tin- i)ridc I Ctlt wlii-n she sinilrd liniignlv on nH> 



12 JUVENII^E POEMS. 

My Mother's Picture,' 

I love to look with ling-ering- g-aze 
Upon that picture of my mother; 

It bring-s to memory those sweet days 
When we alone would sit togfether. 



Days, sad, dreary days have passed, 

And years seem slow to leap each other: 

But memory ere will bind me fast 

To those sweet hours spent with my mother. 

Can I forg-et that farewell g"aze? 

And that sweet smile? — it was her last; 
No! time eternal can't efface 

Those dearest records of the past. 

Still on me now those eyes are set, 
Yet well I know they cannot move; 



and called'me "a poet." If she lives, I hope these pages should she 
happen to see them, will cause another smile and call back the days 
when I first committed "the sin of rhyme," and for which she was to 
blame. 

1 "My Mother's Picture" was written at the age of thirteen and 
was the first of my effusions to appear in print. Its publication made 
me extremely happy and I felt that I had immoi-talized myself. I read 
it over and over again and never once realized that some of the ideas it 
contained had been stolen from Burns' "To Mary in Heaven." To s6e 
my verse in print filled my soul with ecstasy, but it was an ecstasy 
I experienced alone, for the poem was not published with my name nor 
did 1 dare tell anyone I was its author. So much for the modesty of 
youth 1-1896. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 13 



But something- in them tells me yet 
They watch me with a mother's love. 



The Emigrant At Wyandotte.^ 

I am sitting- on the levy, and I'm g-aziag- at the 
stream 

Of the old Missouri river whose waters softly beam, 

And sparkle in the sunlig-ht, as they flow on to the 

sea. 

And it makes me wish that I was back, 'way down 
in Tennessee. 

It's just two years now since I left the old planta- 
tion door, 

1 The great neerro exodus from Tennessee to Kansas occiirred in 
187—, and anions' those who went to the new El Dorado was an ohi negro 
servant of my father's— "Uncle" Essex, as Ave children all called him. 
He had been a slave; had nursed my father when he was a child, and 
between the two there existed a feeling that was even stronger than 
friendship. The parting between them was very pathetic, and when 
the last goodbye was spoken tears dimmed the eyes of both. They had 
lived a long lifetime together; each had been faithful to the other, and 
it seemed cruel that they should now in their old age be separated. But 
"Uncle" Essex's only son, and of whom he was very fond, thought it 
best, because of some trouble in which he became involved, to move 
away, and his father followed him to Kansas. Like hundreds of other 
negro emigrants from Tennessee, "Uncle" Essex found nothing but 
misfortunes in the "Land of Promise," and he died there in poverty 
and want, as my father learned some years after his death. Though his 
skin was black, his heart was white, and had I the writing of his 
epitaph I would chisel on his tomb: 

"An honest man here lies at rest 
As (^'er (Jod with his iiuiigc blest." 



14 JUVENIlvE POEMS. 

Where I went to take a fond farewell; perhaps for- 
evermore. 

And as I took old master's hand, big- tears came in 
his eye, 

And sometime now I hear him say, "my faithful 
friend, goodbye ! " 

Oh, if I was but back again, I think that I would 
stay, 

And spend my days a-working in the cotton fields 
and hay; 

And join the darkies as they sing their merrj' songs 
of glee, 

When coming from the fields at night, 'wa}' down 
in Tennessee. 



The Negro's Lament. 

There's a dear old cabin home, and its many miles 
away, 

Where the mocking-birds are singing in the trees; 
Where the skies they seem the brightest in the 
merry month of May, 
Where the vesper bells are djing on the breeze. 

'Tis my dear old cabin home, 'tis the dearest spot 
on earth. 

And the flowers they are growing by the stream; 



JUVENILE POEMS. 15 

And the cricket still is chirping- on the old familiar 
hearth — 

And it Hng-ers in my memory like a dream. 

They tell me that around the door the weeds are 
growing- rank, 

That the footpath now no longer can be seen; 

They say the little babbling spring where many a 
time I drank, 

Is all covered with the willows thick and green. 

But no matter what the changes be, that home will 
still remain 

Evermore the dearest spot on earth to me; 
And I cannot be contented till I see it once again, 

And shall sit beneath the shady old oak tree. 

How well do I remember now, 'twas many years ago, 
That I used to chase the rabbit through the cane; 

And I often went a-fishing where the laughing 
waters flow, 
And would sometimes play at marbles in the lane. 
But, oh! the times have changed since then, and 
now I'm old and gray. 
And no longer can this poor old darkey roam, 
And the time is fast approaching when my soul 
will flee away. 
Then ])erhaps I'll sec my dear old cabin home. 



16 JUVENILE POEMS. 

Fare Thee Well!^ 

(Written for a friend.) 

Fare thee well, for we must sever ! 

More than this 'tis vain to tell ! 
Yet our paths must part forever, 

So forever fare thee well ! 

Would it been I ne'er had met thee, 
Happier now my lot would be; 

But I never can forget thee — 

Wilt thou sometimes think of me? 

Wilt thou think of him whose bosom 
Kept for thee a bleeding* heart? 

And whose confidence in woman 
Caused it many a painful smart? 

Cruel maiden ! I must leave thee ! 

Every hope of bliss is gone ! 
Yet, oh, yet no more deceive me 

With that smile that lured me on. 



1 This poor imitation was written for a youthful friend of mine 
who was sorely distressed at the treatment he had received at the hands 
of the girl he loved. He used the poem (at my suggestion) as his own 
and, I am happy to state, it brought about a reconcilation between the 
two— probably beca\ise she was afraid he would write another. Both 
yovmg people have long since passed from off the stage of life, and in 
that Land Beyond 1 truly hope they have found that peaceful bliss 
which early death deprived them of in this world.— 1898. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 17 

"Every feeling" hath been shaken, 

Pride, which not a world could bow, 
Bows to thee — by thee forsaken — 
Bv'n my soul forsakes me now." 

But no long-er will I taunt thee 

With the love thy heart must spurn; 

Still thine imag-e e'er will haunt me 
And within my bosom burn. 

And when I am silent sleeping". 

When the g"rass shall o'er me wave; 

Or some g"enial willow weeping" 
O'er my cold and silent g-rave; 

Wilt thou then think how I love thee? 

Will my memory then be dear? 
Will not death alone then move thee 

But to shed one gentle tear? 

Though this heart be bowed in sadness, 
Though each joy it must resign, 

Still it hopes, even in its madness, 
There is happiness for thine. 

Though misfortune should befall me, 
Though fond hopes should cease to be; 



18 JUVENILE POEMS. 

Though the woes of life enthrall me, 
Still I'll think of thine and thee. 

And when all thy pleasures over, 
When thy mag-ic charms are flown. 

Thou may'st then too late discover 
We must reap what we have sown. 

But 'tis done — each vow is broken — 
More than this 'tis vain to tell. — 

All my happiness is spoken 

When I whisper, " Fare thee well ! " 



When I Shall Die, ^ 

When I shall die, as die I must. 

But to return to silent dust; 

When death comes knocking- at my door 

And whispers, "It will soon be o'er !" 

I wonder if my soul will shrink 

While ling-ering- on that awful brink 

They tell us is as dark as nig-ht? 

1 These lines were suggested by an aged man who lay on his death- 
bed and who fervently prayed tliat he might be permitted to live a 
little while longer. His fight against death made a deep impression on 
my youthful mind, and I have ever since wondered if it was really 
so difficult to die 1-1898. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 19 



I wonder if I'll turn in frig-ht, 
And turning-, ask one moment more 
To ling-er on life's fitful shore? 



To The Old Year. 

Once more the wheel of Time has turned around, 
And I must bid a long- and sad farewell 
To thee, Old Year, and note thy parting- knell. 

Which breaks upon me with a ling-ering- sound. 

The pleasures thou did'st bring-, and which I found, 
Steal soft as summer echoes o'er my heart — 
My life with thine becomes a sullen part. 

And Memory starts anew with sudden bound. 

I wander back into the byg-one past. 

And I recall each scene of the Old Year; 

Some joyous were, while some that bind me fast. 
Have cost me many a bitter pang- and tear. 

Still would I ling-er with thee, nor depart 
To welcome in a new and untried friend; 

But time moves on, nor even stops to start. 

Nor heeds the heart that to his rod must bend. 

And as thou now must ling-er evermore 
Within the past, which is a boundless sea, 

While I draw nearer to that unknown shore 



20 JUVENILE POEMS. 

Which marks the realms of dark eternity; 
My heart g^rows sad, my eyes g-row dim with tears, 

My little bark g-oes swiftly down life's stream; 
While all the glories of departed years 

Come o'er me like the memory of a dream. 
I see a lovel}^ form, a g-racious smile — 

I hear a low, sweet voice, a ling^ering- sigh; 
I hear a song" that ang-els might beg-uile, 

And then a frowning cloud comes o'er my sky. 
The darkness g-athers round me, and I roam 

Far out into the lone and starless night; 
With kindly strangers must I seek a home 

That once again my soul may feel the light. 

And these were broug-ht me — these ! by thee, Old 
Year! 

And thus I leave thee with a parting- tear. 



Impromptu Versicles. 

(On a Conceited Preacher.) 

His talk is /oo?c, but his logic's taste 

Is like a lovely field that's gone to waste: 

In either case — 'tis sad, and yet 'tis true, — 

That "distance lends enchantment to the view." 

If such poor talk could take a man to heaven, 
'Twould be as bread made without salt or leaven. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 21 

Conceit's his forte — 'tis his from heel to crown — 
The Bible's naug-ht if he can prove a clown. 

'Tis true, his text he takes it from the Bible, 
But on that Book his preaching- is a libel. 



Stanzas for Music. 

Thoug-h I fondly must love thee forever, 

Thoug-h my memory shall round thee entwine. 
Yet now, oh, now we must sever, 

For thou can'st never be mine. 
Thy g"entle breast sig^hs for another, 

Thy heart does another contain. 
But my anguish I now will smother — 

And I'll not speak of loving" ag-ain. 

I hope all thy days may be pleasant. 

That thy life a sweet pleasure may be; 
I hope thoul't forg"et the present 

And never ag-ain think of me. 
I would not be the cause of thy ang-uish. 

Oh, no! I would not wish thee pain; 
But in silence, oh, now let me lang-uish — 

And I'll not speak of loving ag-ain. 



22 JUVENILE POEMS 

Ere the days of thy youth all are faded, 

With another you fettered may be; 
For a moment thy griefs may be shaded, 

And then you will not think of me. 
But my spirit will hover around thee, 

And a wish that may not be in vain: 
Is that ang-els will ever surround thee — 

But I'll not speak of loving- again. 



Impromptu Lines, 

(Written beneath a picture.) 

Oh, had those lips the power to speak. 

Or breathe one sigh for me; 
Could I but touch that ruddy cheek 

And know 'twas felt by thee; 
Of heaven no other boon I'd ask 

Than such a moment's pleasure, 
And it would be m^^ sweetest task 

To clasp for aye my treasure. 



Old Songs, 



There comes to me from far away, 
No matter where I roam. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 23 

The echo of a dear old song- — 

The song- of "Home, Sweet Home !" 

And as sweet fancies come and go 
And round my heart entwine, 

They bring- another song- most dear — 
"The Days of Auld Lang- Syne." 

How dear to me are the old song-s 

I heard in boyhood's years; 
Each tells a tale of happier days 

And every scene endears. 
Their memory fills m}' soul with joy 

And drives awa}^ all worry, 
And if I sig-h with poor "Ben Bolt," 

I smile with "Annie Laurie." 

Then g-ive to me the old, old song-s — 

I care not for the new; 
The new song-s are but idle rhymes, 

The old song-s are the true. 
For all the new song-s of the day 

Can't make one's spirit quiver 
As one short verse, and one alone, 

Of sweet "Sewanee River." 

Who does not love "Old Uncle Ned?" 
Or "Darling- Nellie Grav?" 



24 JUVENILE POEMS. 

Who has not felt a better man 
From hearing- "Dearest May?" 

And who could hear without a sig-h 
"De Ole Virg-inny Shore?" 

Or sing- "My Old Kentucky Home," 
And then not sing- it o'er?" 

And oftimes does my spirit hear 

In dreams, "Those Evening- Bells;" 
While memory wanders o'er the past 

And calls back "Kittie Wells." 
"Lord Lovell," too, I cherish still, 

And hear it with a sig-h; 
While "Dixie" ever thrills a heart 

Which weeps to hear "Good-bye !" 

There's something- in the dear old song-s 

No words can e'er define, 
They bring- sweet memories from the past 

And make our present shine. 
They fill our souls with peace and love, 

And drive away all woe; 
So g-ive to me the old, old songs. 

And let the new ones g-o. ^ 

1 A number of other pieces were written at this period, but I 
regarded it as the part of wisdom to siippress them, as they woukl add 
nothing to this little volume. The ones given were thrown in merely 
to illustrate my turn for rhyming during my childhood and boyhood 
days.-1903. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 25 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
Mary. 

Long- years ag-o — 'tis vain to tell — 

We parted b}^ the river; 
I whispered then a fond farewell — 

Perhaps it was forever. 
And thoug-h I've wandered far aw^ay, 

O'er mountain, sea and prairie, 
Still I can ne'er forget the day 

I bade farewell to Mary. 

They tell me she is still the same, 

Unchang"ed in heart and feeling-; 
Unchang-ed in look, unchang-ed in name, 

With beauty o'er her stealing-. 
And as tonight my wild thoughts roam 

To her so coy and chary, 
I sigh to think long years must come 

E'er I can be with Mary. 

'Tis said the hearts that deepest love 
Must feel the deepest sorrow; 
Perhaps 'tis thus in vain I strove 
Relief from time to borrow. 



26 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

For as the years more swiftly creep 
My heart seems less to vary; 

It knows but one love long* and deep — 
An endless love for Mary. 

And now whate'er my hapless fate, 

Whate'er my joy or sadness. 
May pleasures ever round her wait 

To crown her life with g-ladness. 
And may sweet echoes from the past, 

Ivike songs from realms of fairy. 
Around her lovely form be cast 

To bring- sweet peace to Mary. 

October, 1888. 

The Lass of Kyle. 

The Lass of Kyle! the Lass of Kyle! 

Whose step is lig-ht and free as air! 
Whose mag-ic g-lance and pensive smile 

Can bless in joy or soothe in care; 
Long- may she bloom! the fairest flower 
That e'er was reared in Southern bower. 

Her soft brown eyes! twere vain to tell 
The beauty of repose that's there; 

No eyes save those of the g-azelle 

Could with such heavenly orbs compare. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 27 

And I will ling^er here awhile 
That I may love the Lass of Kyle. 

Like music on the deep blue sea, 

No siren's voice was e'er more sweet; 

No fairy's footstep e'er more free, 
No heart more pure in its retreat. 

And, like the pearl in crystal waters, 

She's fairest of our Southern daug-hters. 

So fill the bowl with purest wine 

That I may drink to her sweet health; 

And let the myrtle and the vine 
But imitate her hair's dark wealth. 

And as around the wreath they twine 

So round her path may pleasures shine. 

And may she bloom forevermore. 
The first and fairest of her race! 

No passing- cloud e'er flitted o'er 
A fairer or more lovely face. 

And thoug"h I wander in exile 

I still will love the Lass of Kyle. 

Once more fill hig-h the sparkling- bowl! 
That I may drink before I go. 



28 MISCEIvLANEOUS POEMS. 

A parting" health to her whose soul 

Is like the rainbow's radiant g-low. 
x\nd may the brightest sunbeams smile 
Forever round the Lass of Kyle. 

Kyle, Texas, June, 1884. 

Impromptu Lines. 

(Written in the album of a little Northern friend.) 

My little friend, may all thy years 

Be free from sorrow's blighting" tears; 

May pleasures round thy pathway fall 

Like echoes of an ang-el's call. 

And when once more you seek the clime 

Where first you heard the evening- chime, 

And roam again 'mid scenes of youth, 

Do not forg-et our Sunny South; 

And as the past you wander o'er 

Think of your friend, 

Jeff McLemore. 

Lines to Miss Annie S. 

(On her eighteenth birthday.) 

Alas, sweet g"irl ! the fleeting" years are passing" 
swiftly by! 

Another now is numbered with the years that 
buried lie. 



. MISCEIvIvANEOUS POEMS. 29 

And though with joy we hail the day that gave our 
being birth, 

Yet in the heart a whisper comes, "tis one year less 
of earth." 

But 'tis in vain to ponder o'er the past with vain 

regret, 
So let us only view the light and all the dark forget. 
Remember all our lighter joys — oblivious of our 

sorrow — 
And though the clouds may linger still, 'twill 

brighter be tomorrow. 

And when each birthday comes again, oh, may it 
be with pleasure! 

And may each day of the old year be but a buried 
treasure; 

And should some echo from the past awake a ling- 
ering sigh, 

Hope for a brighter future still, and bid the past 
goodbye. 

Lines to Jefferson Davis. 

(Suggested by his visit to Macon, (Ja.) 

To be the noblest of the noble great. 
To be the object of a Nation's love. 
To soar like the proud eagle far above 

All worldly things that may contaminate: 



30 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Such, noble chieftan, such has been th}^ fate, 

Nor should be less, for thou wert born a king-, 

To rule with love, and lay the offering 
Of that great love at every Freeman's g"ate. 
Thy deeds were done for others — why should they 

Refuse to honor such a chief as thou? 
Where is the Southern heart that will not say: 

"We come to bind fresh laurels round his brow!" 
And though the North deride, it matters not. 

Since thou art safe in every Southern heart; 
Proud in that honor which has been thy lot 

So long with the Old South to form a part. 
The cause thou did'st defend was Freedom's cause. 

And he who would assail thy whitened hairs. 
Or strive to taint thine honor, let him pause, 

For thou hast had thy share of worldly cares. 
And for those very cares we bring bright flowers 
To make a wreath for thy declining hours; 
And in the twilight of all time to come 
Thy name will linger round each Southern home. 

1884. 

Flora Lee, 

Oh, Flora Lee! sweet Flora Lee! 

Though parted by the boundless plain. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 31 

Yet I must still remember thee, 

Althoug-h remembrance g-ives me pain. 

And silent as I wander 'long- 

Beside the blue and moon-lit sea, 

And listen to the nig-ht-bird's song-, 
I think of naught but Flora Lee. 

For she's the fairest of her race. 

There's music's sweetness in her voice; 
An ang-el's meaning- in her face 

That bids the loneliest heart rejoice. 
Ah, who could view so fair a breast 

And feel his heart from love was free ? 
Where is the maid that is more blest 

Than pretty, brown-eyed Flora Lee? 

But we have parted, still the past 

Must always fresh and g-laddening- seem; 
And may we meet ag-ain at last 

To live once more our blissful dream. 
But I must bid her now farewell 

And wander o'er the deep, blue sea, 
Yet may some g-uardian ang-el dwell 

Forever near sweet Flora Lee. 

Galveston, Stpf. t'<s4. l 

1 The first time I arrived in Galveston it was at nierht— as hoauti- 
f 111 a moonligrht night as I ever witnessed. I wandered on the beach and. 



32 MISCELIvANEOUS POEMS. 

Stanzas to the Blanco River} 

River that flowest by the sunlit home, 

Where lives the lady of my love, when I 2 

Gaze in thy depths, and view thy surging foam. 
My heart responds to each embittered sig-h. 

She, too, has stood beside thy pebbled shore. 
And oft we've gazed into thy mystic deep; 

But we shall tread thy verdant banks no more — 
Our hopes were as the tiny waves that sweep 

Across thy bosom — bounding to the sea — 
A moment seen, then lost to sight forever; 

while listening to the song of the ocean, I wrote on the back of an old 

envelope, "Flora Lee." An hour afterward I read the lines over at the 

hotel and, so "homesick" did I become, that, instead of carrying out my 

original intention of leaving on a steamer bound for Brazil, I wandered 

back to Kyle— a poor tnofh, fluttering around the light that could only 

scorch its wings and leave it to fall and perchance to die. I fell, but 

did not dM, and though fifteen years have passed away since then, I am 

still a, moth and have found another light around which it is mine to 

flutter.* But, 

Fools there are in every age. 

And I but fill ray destined page.— 1899. 

1 At the time these stanzas were written the Blanco was one of the 
prettiest and most romantic rivers in Texas. At the present time 
(October, 1901,) by some whim of nature, the course of the once pictur- 
esque stream is marked by a bed that is now almost entirely dry.t 

2 "River, that rollest by the ancient walls. 

Where dwells the lady of my love, when she," etc. 

— Byron: '^Stanzas to the Pa.'' 



♦Prophetic. -1903. 

tNature has again been whimsical and the Blanco is itself once 
more.— September, 1903. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 33 

But, ah! from youth 'twas ever thus with me: 
What I most loved was soonest to dissever. 

But let thy waters now reflect my heart, 

That she each vain, thoug-h changeless throb may 
see; 

And tell her, g-entle river, ere we part. 
My soul is true throug^h all eternity. 

Tell her that as thou flowest to the sea, 
So flows my love in one unceasing- strain; 

And know whatever either now may be 
'Tis better that we should not meet asrain. 



'•to 



Then hurry onward to the dark blue ocean. 
Nor long-er wait beneath her eyes to rest; 

Lest thou mayest cause some pang- or sad emotion 
To ruffle her unmoved, yet faultless breast. 

And then farewell! — perhaps forevermore — 
Like other loving- friends, we, too, must sever; 

But I will ne'er forg-et the sacred shore 

Where once we stood beside the Blanco River. 

October, 1884. 

The Withered Leaf, 

Thoug-h withered and faded 
And now alone. 



MISCEIvIvANEOUS POEiMS. 

By silent grief shaded, 

Its beauty all gone; 
Yet round it is clinging- 

A love which decay, 
Though still vainly wringing, 

Can ne'er take away. 

'Tis first of the treasures 

That to me are left, 
It brings back the pleasures 

Of which I'm bereft; 
And though it may wither. 

Yet while it is near, 
I'll cherish no other 

With love's sacred tear. 

December, 1884. 

In Memoriam. 

"And thou art dead! as young and fair 

As aught of mortal birth, 
And form so soft and charms so rare, 

Too soon returned to earth." 
And in thy cold and far-off grave, 
Where soon, too soon, the grass shall wave. 

Forever thou must dwell; 
And then to think I was not near 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

To bless thee with a parting- tear, 
Or bid one last farewell. 

Sweet sister! these are bitter tears 

That I must shed for thee; 
But as the Evening Star appears, 

So shall thy memory be. 
'Twere better though had I not known. 
That I had thus been left alone, 

Without thy parting- prayer; 
And yet I could not dare to brook, 
A moment on thy face to look. 

And view Death's coldness there. 

It were enough to grieve the heart 

To see thee slowly die. 
And like the autumn sun depart, 

Slow fading from the sky. 
But thus to see thee rudely torn, 
While yet thy life was in its morn. 

From all that's blest and dear; 
Makes doubly vain the bitter thought. 
That I the sweetest hope had sought. 

To find it with a tear. 

But yet there is a brighter home 
Beyond the silent stream, 



36 . MISCEIvLANEOUS POEMS. 

Where angels all unceasing- roam 

And peace and gladness beam. 
And there among thy new found friends, 
Where to the softest zephyr bends 

The rose of Paradise, 
Oh, mayest thou from thy home above, 
Still watch me with that priceless love 

Thou never could'st disguise. 

And I will bless each parting day 

That brings me nearer thee, 
And brush the silent tear away 

That still must flow to me. 
And may the flowers that soon will bloom 
Around thy cold and far-off tomb 

Be always fresh and fair; 
And as in silence they must weep. 
So may they guard the peaceful sleep 

Of her who slumbers there. 

We Parted in Silence, 

We parted in silence, we parted in tears, 
And perhaps we have parted forever; 

But the past that is gone with its pleasures and fears. 
No distance or time can dissever. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 37 

I thoug-ht you were true, and I knew you were kind, 

And if once 3^ou have ever deceived me. 

For thy sake it shall pass — there were no vows to 
bind 

Save the one, that I fondly believed thee. 

You knew that my love had been g-iven to one, 
And that you were the one to enslave it; 

But now all I ask, sometimes when alone. 
Just sig-h for the spirit that gave it. 

And if on some morrow by chance we should meet. 

Let it not be in anger or madness; 
But as friends of the past let us each other g'reet, 

And I'll smile, thoug-h I smile throug^h my sadness. 

And now fare thee well ! I can wish thee no harm — 

May thy life be as free as that river. 
On whose lovely banks I was caught by the charm 

That has bound me unto thee forever. 



Stanzas to . 

When Fortune beamed upon m}- way, 
And scattered roses round me la}^ 
'Twas then that I could smile and say. 
Thou wcrt my friend. 



38 MISCELIvANEOUS POEMS. 

But when the clouds beg-ati to lower, 
And faded grew each tender flower, 
Thou wert the first to wield thy power 
To see me bend. 

And I did bend, yes, humbly knelt 

Low at thy feet, for then I felt, 

That power of love which once could melt 

This bleeding- heart. 
But now where love so softly sate, 
Naug-ht can be found but direst hate, 
Which welcomes with a smile the fate 

That bade us part. 

And I could sooner now believe 
The whitest ang-els would deceive 
And smile to see each other g-rieve. 

Than trust to thee. 
And since our paths apart must lie, 
I, too, can coldly say goodbye. 
Without one parting- pang- or sig-h. 

That thou misrh'st see. 



o 



Yet mayest thou never feel the curse 
Which thou hast wroug-ht, and yet my verse 
Would do thee just to wish thee worse, 
But g-o thy way; 



MISCELIvANEOUS POEMS. 39 

And teach some other trusting- heart 
That g-old is but the woman's mart 
Whose smiles are only smiles of art, 
Brig-ht, false and g'ay.i 

December, 1885. 

To '^ Bessie Smith,''' 

Sweet "Bessie Smith!" I know your heart 

Must be as soft as summer's breeze, 
Because the song-s your lips impart 

Are sweet as summer's melodies. 
And as perchance no more we'll meet 

One boon I'd ask before we part: 
Just sing- me one song- low and sweet, 

'Twill soothe my lone and bleeding- heart. ^ 

i88s. 

1 These stanzas are entirely too severe and the acrimony they con- 
tain was not altogether justified hy the circumstances. They are tlie 
result of feeling, however, and as such I will let them go, with the hope 
that those who may read, and perchance give them a passing thought, 
will forgive the wild impulse of a heart that was once less gi'ay than it 
now is, although none the less trustful.— 1899. 

2 "Bessie Smith" was the nom de plume of a San Marcos young 
lady who wrote a number of pretty poems that were published in a local 
paper. Instead of treating my reciuest good-naturedly, as most young 
ladies would have done, she regarded it as impertinence, and in place 
of a song gave me a rather caustic lecture, in which she intimated that 
familiarity bred contempt. Oh, well! it is hard to tell what a woman 
will and will not do. still, after all these years (it is now 1901,) I trust 
the fair "Bessie" bears nw. no resentment whatever and has long since 
forgiven what she thought was impertinence, but which in reality was 
not intended as such. 



40 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

My Mother's Grave, 

I stood beside a grass-grown grave, 

The vines and roses twined around; 
One long- and ling-ering- look I g-ave 

To this green spot, this hallowed ground. 
And then a tear stole from mine eye, 

Nor did I seek its course to smother; 
For the green grave that I stood b}- 

Alas, was that of my dead mother ! 

Then kneeling down, I kissed the ground 

That held the form of one so dear; 
My heart was pierced with many a wound, 

My eyes were dimmed with many a tear. 
In life she was my dearest friend, 

Alas, I ne'er shall find another! 
With angels now her soul shall blend, 

Yet to me still she is my mother. 

Long years have passed since I have pressed 
Her sainted lips, now cold in death; 

No purer lips were ever blessed. 

To bless me with their parting breath. 

And now though silent evermore, 
No more in accents sweet to thrill; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 41 

Yet on a lovelier, fairer shore, 

They sing- a song- far sweeter still. 

And now though parted by the sea, 

By mountains bleak and boundless plain, 
Yet 'twere the sweetest joy to me 

To wander there once more ag-ain; 
And spend an hour, with no one near, 

Save the sweet flowers that o'er her wave; 
And drop once more the parting tear 

Upon my angel mother's g-rave. ^ 



To Albert Nance, 

Dear Albert, just to pass the time, 

I'll strive to entertain you. 
By scribbling- a few thoug-hts in rhyme, 

And trust they will not pain you. 
For you have been to me a friend 

When hope was nig"h disbanded. 
And many a helping- hand would lend 

When my frail bark seemed stranded. 

But now we'll lay such thoug-hts aside, 
And seek for fairer weather; 

1 Tlie first two stanzas were written at tlio affo of sixteen. The 
others were written at a much hiter i)erio(l, but I do not see that atre has 
made any very material iniprovenunt in ray Muse. — 1900. 



42 MISCEI^LANEOUS POEMS. 

Across the plains we'll take a ride, 
And laugh and chat tog-ether. 

We'll sing a song of "Auld Lang Syne," 
Of youthful J03^s and pleasures; 

Of happier days, once yours and mine. 
Now linked with memory's treasures. 

Do you remember on a night, 

(I think 'twas in December), 
When with our feelings gay and light, 

(At least I so remember); 
We laid our little plans and schemes? 

Each of us seemed delighted; 
Nor little thought we in our dreams 

We e'er would be benighted. 

But, ah! the times have changed since then. 

And likewise has our dreaming; 
We've lost our youth and grown to men, 

And have a deeper seeming. 
But yet 'tis sweet to wander o'er 

The past through time's swift glances. 
And roam ag-ain on boyhood's shore, 

And live 'mid youthful fancies. 

The dear old mill! — I mind it well — 
Down by the Blanco river; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 43 

The water flows the same, and still 

It may flow on forever. 
And the old mill is g-rinding- yet, 

In fancy I can hear it; 
How could we such a spot forget 

With such scenes to endear it? 

And the g-reen grove below the mill — 

Ev'n now I hear the singing- 
Of childhood's gay and rapturous thrill, 

Through the sweet woodlands ringing. 
Yes, those indeed were joyous times, 

When you and I together. 
Joined in the merry summer chimes 

That brighter made the weather. 

And yet amid each lingering scene 

We oftimes had our sorrow; 
We'd close our eyes on skies serene, 

To find dark clouds tomorrow. 
Yet, what is life if 'twere the same, 

With bright sunshine forever? 
Our joy would lose its sweetest claim, 

If naught came to dissever. 

They tell me now you have a wife — 
May heaven e'er guard your treasure; 



44 MISCELIvANEOUS POEMS. 

And may the blessings of her life 
Bring- to you peace and pleasure. 

And when life's hill you've crossed at last 
And to the end are nearing-, 

May every memory of the past 
Be all the more endearing. 

And through all time I wish you well, 

May sorrow ne'er o'ertake you; 
And one wish more I fain would tell — 

May fortune ne'er forsake you. 
But now goodbye, my eyelids sink, 

The night draws near the morrow; 
To "Auld Lang Syn-e" once more we'll drink, 

Nor trouble ever borrow. 

May, 1 88b. 



Flirting, ^ 

(Taken from life.) 

One day in June, not long ago, 

When down beside the Blanco river, 

Where flowers seemed more bright to grow, 
And every leaf was in a quiver; 

1 A modern critic has said, and with some degree of truthfulness, 
that the field of poetry has been so "relentlessly invaded" that it is hard 
for one to now write a poem without treading on ground that has before 
been traveled over. In other words, that the poetic field has been so 
thoroughly cDvered, that it is almost an impossibility for a present-day 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 45 

I stood with one who idly traced 

Some words upon the sand before her, 

And then her hand in mine she placed 
And softly asked, "could I adore her?" 

I told her "yes!" then stooped to see 
What 'twas the elfin maid had written; 

And then she smiled so sweet on me 
That ere I knew it I was smitten. 

For there before my searching eyes, 
(I swear it by the stars above me!) 

poet to keep from plagiarizing, to a greater or less extent, no matter on 
what subject he may write. This critic may have been trying to justify 
some of his own actions, still he was not far wrong in his charges, as 1 
myself can testify. Some of my own efforts have borne a resemblance 
to poems written before my day and time, and yet I had never seen 
them until after my compositions had come from my pen. The most 
striking instance is in that of the poem to which this note refers. 
"Flirting" was written in 1886, while I was a resident of the little town 
of Kyle. Years afterward, in 1901, in looking over a copy of "A New 
Library of Poetry and Song, Edited by William Cullen Bryant," I 
chanced upon an old poem entitled "Constancy." "Flirting" bore such 
a strong resemblance to this old poem that I felt myself guilty of 
plagiarism, although I had never before seen or heard of the latter. 
Mine was taken from an actual occurrence, yet so plainly does it seem to 
be an imitation that I give the other in full: 

CONSTANCY. 

One eve of beauty, when the sun 

Was on the stream of Guadalquiver, 
To gold converting, on(! by one, 

Th(! ripples of the mighty river; 
f^esi(l(; nu! on tlic bniik was seated 

A Seville girl, witli aul)urn hair. 
And eyes that might the; world have cheated— 

A wild, bright, wicked diamond i)air! 

She stooped and wrote upon the sand, 
Just as the loving sun was going. 



46 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

I read, between my throbs and sig^hs, 
These words upon the sand, I love thee! 

But ere a week had passed away 

Upon another she was smiling-; 
She seemed the same as on that day 

When my poor heart she was beg-uiling-. 
And then a thoug^ht rushed throug^h my head- 

I hope you'll think me not uncivil — 
But ere I knew it I had said, 

"I wish such g-irls were at the devil!" 

iS8b. 



If I Had Known. 

If I had known those sunny smiles 
Could ever prove untrue; 

If I had known those frag^ile wiles 
Were false and borrowed, too; 

With such a soft, small, shining hand, 

I could have sworn 'twas silver flowing. 

Her words were three, and not one more, 
What could Diana's motto be? 

The siren wrote upon the shore— 
"Death, not inconstancy!" 

And then her two large languid eyes 

So turned on mine that, devil take me! 
I set the air on fire with sighs, 

And was the fool she chose to make me! 
Saint Francis would have been deceived 

With such an eye and such a hand; 
But one week more, and I believed 

As much the woman as the sand 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 47 

I would not weep to think that I 

Had bowed before thy throne, 
Nor would I draw one parting- sig-h 

If I — had only known. 

If I had known those soft brown eyes 

That once could smile so sweet, 
Like heaven's lamplig-hts in the skies. 

Could sparkle with deceit; 
I would not flee from those I love. 

Nor sig-h to be alone; 
Nor longer would I vainly rove 

If I — had only known. 

If I had known that siren voice 

Was false as that sweet smile; 
If I had known thou cotdd'st rejoice 

Because thou didst beg-uile; 
I'd spurn the offer of thy heart 

And of thy cheek's false glow; 
Without one sigh from thee I'd part, 

But then — I did not know. 

June, i88b. 



48 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Farewell to Kyle, 

Adieu, 3^e once familiar plains! 
Adieu, ye pleasures, pangs and pains! 
Adieu, thou sanctum ten by eight, ^ 
Where oft I toiled and scribbled late! 
A fond adieu to Albert Nance, ^ 
Whose memory time can but enhance; 
And while no words of mine can praise him. 
And though perchance my rhymes may craze him. 
Yet for him I've a fond adieu, 
A heart that's tender, warm and true. 

1 During my sojourn in Kyle, Texas, from December, 1883, to Aug- 
ust, 1886, 1 conducted, or rather attempted to conduct, a weekly news- 
paper, and it may not be amiss to state further that it was the hardest 
task I ever undertook. I was ambitious, however, to see my effusions 
in print, and as a result, being a poor business manager (so they said), 
I found myself at the end of thirty months of sweat and toil without a 
penny to my name and transformed from a light-hearted youth into a 
cynical, gray-headed man, with a thirst for anytking calculated to drown 
sorrow and make one fcrget. So much for trying to run a newspaper in 
a town where the business was too small to even insure it a living. But 
I do not blame the town so much as I do my want of foresight, and the 
fact that the business interests of the town were not sufficient to give a 
paper the necessary support, was no fault of the people who resided 
there and who did all in their power for the upbuilding and advance- 
ment of their little city. 

2 Albert Nance was among the first whose acquaintance I formed 
after locating in Kyle. He proved himself a friend at a time I needed 
friends, and it affords me much real pleasure to know that through the 
many long years of our acquaintance his friendship has remained the 
same. He is now (1899) residing two miles west of Kyle (which was 
founded by his father, one of nature's noblemen), and within a stone's 
throw of the house in which he was born. He is blessed with a lovely 
family, and the least I can hope for him is that fortune may ever smile 
upon his way. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 49 

And now adieu to Captain Kyle, i 
May fortune's grace upon liim smile. 
Adieu, adieu, to Captain Good 1 2 
And while I'm in this rhyming- mood, 
In his behalf this much I'll say: 
No better man e'er saw the day. 
Adieu to Mister Middlebrook, ^ 
Who ne'er a fellow-creature shook 
Because perchance he had no cash 
To pay the landlord for his hash. 
Adieu, Tom Martin, * and your beer! 

1 Capt. Ferg Kyle, after whom the town of Kyle was named, is a 
good and generous-hearted man who will leave to posterity the reputa- 
tion of having loved his fellow-man, and of having been as'gallant a de- 
fender of the Lost Cause as ever went forth to battle beneath the Bon- 
nie Blue Flag. He still resides at the little city which bears his 
name. -1899.* 

2 Capt. William Good— a man whose character and disposition are 
suited to his name. I spent several weeks at his ranch near Kyle, and 
am indebted to him and his charming family for many moments of 
pleasure and enjoyment. For years past (it is now 1899) Capt. Good has 
been a resident of Quanah, Texas, where he has happily, and by fair 
and honest dealing, accumulated a fortune sufliciently large to make 
him and his family independent the remainder of their days.t 

3 Mr. Middlebrook conducted a boarding-house, or rather, hotel, in 
Kyle during a part of the time I lived there, and was loved for his gen- 
erosity to the poor and needy. 

4 Capt. Tom Martin was th(> keeper of a place in Kyle where 
"liquid refreshments" were served. He was a man of great personal 
courage and as a pciace oilicer did much toward ridding Hays county of 
desperate characters, four of whom fell before the unerring aim of his 



*Capt. Kyle is now an honored member of the Texas Legislature, 
having be(^n elected from his district first, in 1900, and re-elected two 
years later. — 1903. 

tSincc this note was penned ('apt. (^ood has laid down life's burden, 
and in that Land iieyoiul his generous, manly spirit is now enjoying its 
just reward. 



50 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

"Thoug-h lost to sig-ht, to memory dear;" 
Adieu, the "pizen" which you sell — 
In days g-one by I loved it well. 
Adieu to Ford and Allen, ^ too, 
And all the balance of the crew 
With whom I quaffed the g-oblet red. 
To wake next morn with aching- head. 
To "Honest" Dave^ I leave a smack 
Because he hit me many a whack 
When well he knew, I need not say, 
To hit him back I had no way. 

six-shooter. While serving in the capacity of an officer of the law, he 
was shot at innumerable times, but, to the best of my recollection, he 
was never wounded, although bullets pierced his clothing on more than 
one occasion. He was very fond of horse-racing and chicken-fighting 
and devoted considerable of his time to these sports. He was never 
known to turn a deaf ear to appeals of distress, and because of his 
many acts of charitv he lived and died a poor man, as far as this world's 
goods are concerned. His death occurred in the fall of 1892. 

1 Ford and Allen, like Capt. Martin, were also the dispensers of 
liquors. Chester Ford was a Virginian by birth and bore honorable 
scars that were obtained in the service he rendered the South in the 
war between the States. He died some years ago, after a lingering 
illness, and was buried in the Kyle cemetery. A. C. Allen, his partner 
in business, was a native of Massachusetts, and the last time I heard of 
him (1890) he had returned to the North and was residing in the city of 
Boston. Both of these were generous-hearted men and to my personal 
knowledge they did many charitable acts that were worthy of the high- 
est praise. 

2 David McNaughton— a Scotchman who published a weekly news- 
paper at Kyle after the paper I published had been destroyed by fire, 
and who, when he saw I had no way of replying, seldom missed an op- 
portunity to publish something unkind of me, although I had never in 
my life done the least harm to him or his, but had frequently made 
pleasant mention of him in the columns of my paper. However, "Hon- 
est" Dave was not the first to wait for a man to "get down" before 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 51 

Adieu, Ed Vaug-hati, ^ may ne'er you cease 

To be a justice of the peace. 

Adieu thou drug-g^ist and thy pills, 

Thy deng-ue tonic and thy squills! 

And now to Charley Word, ^ adieu! 

His heart was kind and g-enerous, too. 

And Stephenson, ^ with soul so grand! 

Forever here's my heart and hand. 

Adieu to Bob * and Mister Dwyer ^ — 

May they attain all they aspire! 

And Kennedy, ^ not least, thoug^h last. 

Of those whose names we have just passed, 

My heart shall never cease to praise 

striking him. The workl is full of his kind and they are to be found in 
every community.— 1889.* 

1 Edward A. Vaugrhan is a man who has suffered much from "offi- 
cial itch," but who was never able to set elected or appointed to any 
office hififher than that of justice of the peace. 

2 Mr. Charles Word— a true man, a firm friend and a good citizen. 

3 Capt. William Steplienson, the owner of a lovely home a short 
distance from Kyle. He was, and is, one of the best and truest friends 
I ever had, and such is the man that in giving him honorable mention 1 
do honor to myself and to these pages. 

4 Robert Hubbard— a young man who died a few years after I left 
Kyle— the victim, as he himself informed me a short time before his 
death, of cigarette smoking, the constant habit of which brought on 
consumittion. 

5 Mr. William Dwyer. An honest num and a good citizen. 

6 Mr. Kennedy, whose initials I have forgotten, kept a stationery 
store at Kyle and was a bachelor of much popularity, especially among 
tlie ladies. He moved to California shortly after my departure from 



*Mr. McNaughton is now no more, and tlic rt'scntnicnt I once bore 
him is forever ended. — 1!»D2. 



52 MISCELIvANEOUS POEMS. 

Your kindness and your g-enerous ways. 

Adieu, loved Blanco! ^ yes, adieu! 
Adieu, ye waters, dark and blue! 
Adieu, thou lovely banks and braes! 
Adieu, ye g-olden summer days! 
Adieu, thou g-rove and thy sweet flowers! 
Adieu, ye shades and lovers' bowers! 
Adieu, ye scenes of other years! 
Adieu, brig-ht smiles and g'listening- tears! 
Adieu, good ladies and fair g-irls! 
Adieu, red cheeks and sunny curls! 
Oh, if I could but sing- your praises, 
I'd crown you all with wreaths of daisies; 
From heaven my soul would steal a brush 
To paint a Kyle maid's heavenly blush. 
Adieu to all, both friend and foe! 
I know not where, but still I g-o! 
To those who love me, here's a sigh, 2 
A kiss, a tear, a fond g-ood-bye! 
To those who hate, I g-ive a smile. 
And bid a long- farewell to Kyle! 

November, i88b. 

Kyle, and in late years I have lost all track of him. If he is still alive, 
as I trust he is, he has my best wishes for his success; if he has joined 
the silent majority, then the least I can hope for him is a crown of gold, 
which they say is given to all who are deserving. 

1 Blanco river. See note to "Stanzas to the Blanco River," page 32. 

2 "Here's a sigh to those who love me. 
And a smile to those who hate." 

—Byron: "To Thomas Moore.'" 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 53 



Stanzas to 



Well, art thou happy in that home 

Where all of joy that wealth can bring-, 
May at th}- summons quickly come, 

And round thy presence fondly cling? 
And does the memory of some vow 

Awaken still one pensive sig-h? 
And is thy soul as happy now 

As in the pleasant days g"one by? 

I did not deem when last we met 

That we would never meet ag"ain; 
Nor dreamed how vain the deep reg-ret 

That comes with love's undying- pain. 
Thou wert my first, my last, my all! 

'Tween heaven and thee I loved thee most; 
And yet thou viewest my dreary fall. 

Nor ask not at how dear a cost. 

Oh, fair, false one! thoug-h far away, 
I ween that memories sometimes wake 

The echo of a fairer day 

In vain thy bosom would'st forsake. 

That echo tells thee of a heart 

That plead and worshiped at thy feet; 



54 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

It tells thee what it cost to part — 
It tells thee of thy own deceit. 

But yet I weep not for the past — 

It were not manly thus to weep; 
Time even makes all things at last, 

And death soon comes with dreamless sleep. 
And if thou can'st be happy now 

It were not mine to make thee less; 
Forg-et the past and each false vow, 

And dream that gold is happiness. 



La Belle Victoria. 

With eyes as bright as heavenly orbs, 

Before whose light the firmest quail; 
With ringing voice that still absorbs 

The sweetness of the nightingale. 
To see her is to love her, then 

To kneel in fervent adoration; 
The envy of her kind, while men 

Behold in sweetest expectation. 
Oh, fairy maid! with charms divine, 

And form as fair as any Venus, 
May pleasures round thy pathway shine 

To light the sea that rolls between us. 



MISCELIvANEOUS POEMS. 55 

And may thy soul know not the care 
Of withered hopes and dark despair, 
That g-ather round the heart at will 

And blig-ht whate'er they cannot kill. 

* * * * ^ * 

Her hair in long" and g^racef ul tresses 

Falls g-ently to her slender waist; 
Her g"lowing- face a charm expresses 

That in the pure alone is traced. 
A look of ming-led love and joy, 
So radiant, yet so sweetly coy; 
While in her eyes beams forth the lig*ht 
That pleases, yet distracts the sig"ht, 
And bids us worship and adore 
La Belle Victoria evermore! 

Victoria. Texas, July, ism. 

To M. M. 

When twilig"ht's dreamy hour has come 

And vesper bells are ring-ing-; 
When from his fragrant woodbine home 

The nighting-ale is singing-; 
When lang-uid nature softly smiles 

With sweetest joy on mc, 
My weary heart its grief exiles, 

For then I think of thee. 



56 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

When flowers are blooming' by the way. 

When in their sweetest measure, 
The song--birds sing- the live-long day 

And all seems peace and pleasure; 
When childhood kneels in silent prayer 

Round some fond mother's knee, 
My heart forg-ets its secret care, 

For then I think of thee. 

When summer winds are sig^hing^ low 

And murmuring- o'er the ocean; 
When soft eyes beam with radiant glow 

And smile in fond devotion; 
When tender lips their songs impart 

Like music on the sea, 
Sweet memories steal across my heart, 

For then I think of thee. 

When pure and tender words of love 
By lingering sighs are driven; 

When the sad notes of some lone dove 
Arise from earth to heaven; 

When stars beam softly from the skies 
And gently smile on me, 

'Tis then I close my weary eyes 

To think and dream of thee. 

1887. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 57 

Stanzas for Music. 

When memory wanders o'er the past 

And lifts the veil of other daj'S, 
Where many a cherished hope was cast 

To slowly fade with evening-'s rays; 

When all that once was blest and dear 
Lies withered like the autumn leaf; 

And in each sigh there comes a tear 
To mingle with our silent grief; 

'Tis then we feel the weight of 3^ears 

Steal o'er us like a dismal wave, 
While hope forever disappears 

To linger in the cheerless grave. 

1888. 



"Eloiser 

Oh, "Eloise!" sweet "Eloise!" 

Young love may come and love may go; 
The ocean's surging roar may cease, 

The mountain torrent cease to flow. 
The stars may fall to earth below. 

The sun and moon no longer be; 
The summer rain may turn to snow, 

But I will still remember thee. 



58 MISCELT^ANEOUS POEMS. 

My dream of love is past and gone, 

Like summer clouds it passed away; 
My lute hath hushed its once sweet tone, 

And silent now my untimed lay. 
Yet if perchance on some fair day 

Sweet memories come with pensive ring-, 
Think not that hearts are alwa3^s g"ay 

Because sometimes they fain would'st sing-. 

But love like ours must never be — 

It was too pure, too sweet to last; 
Too like the moonbeams on the sea 

When by some passing- cloud o'ercast. 
Yet one sweet memory of the past 

Will always come to bless and please, 
And time will only bind more fast 

Each thought of thee, sweet "Eloise!" 

Feh^'uary^ 



Those Eyes of Blue! 

Those eyes of blue! those eyes of blue! 

How like a dream they softly steal 
Across my heart, so fond and true, 

Whose every thought is for thy weal. 

When nature formed l/iee from a star 

She smiled and said, "thou art earth's rarest!" 



misce:llaneous poems 59 

And angels through the gates ajar, 

Looked down and said, "she, too, is fairest!" 

yanuaiy, iS8q. 

Stanzas for Music. 

'Tis sweet, when all around is still, 

To muse on other days, 
While memory with its magic thrill 

Brings back forgotten lays. 
The scenes of youth, now g-one fore'er. 

Once more are made anew. 
And all that once was blest and dear 

Seems fresh as morning dew. 

Oh, days long gone, though now so vain! 

How doubly dear thou art. 
When every year but wears the chain 

That binds thee to my heart. 
Thy joys and cares, thy smiles and tears, 

Awake a lingering strain, 
While memory hides its sullen fears 

To call thee back again. 

The flowers that bloomed in b3^g()ne years 

Seemed brighter then than now. 
For time the spirit only wears 

And clouds the withered brow. 



60 MISCEIvLANEOUS POEMS. 

And hopes, once brig-ht, when crushed by time, 

Leave but a heavier weig-ht, 
While distance echoes back the chime 

Of youth's untoward fate. 

Victoria, Texas, Fehyuary, i88g. 



To Genevieve. 

'Tis eve! and musing here alone 

The hours unheeded pass away; 
My harp hath hushed its pensive tone 

To watch with me the close of day. 
The parting" sunbeams kiss the plain, 

The song--birds sing* from bush and tree; 
Fond memories come with cheering" strain 

To breathe of love and melody. 
And fancies round me softly weave 
Thine imag"e fair, sweet Genevieve! 

I dreamed last nig-ht I stood with thee 
And saw fair nature sink to rest; 

Before us lay a tranquil sea. 

Behind us g-lowed the sun-kissed west. 

And in that soft, sweet twilig"ht hour, 
With naug"ht to hear but heaven above; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 61 

Unless perchance some unseen flower, 

I told thee of my truth and love. 
With throbbing- heart thou did'st believe. 
And I was bless'd, sweet Genevieve! 

But dreams, like roses, soon are gone, 

And thus I woke to life again; 
With no one near, I stood alone — 

Within my heart a burning- pain. 
I knew I loved thee — be it sol 

I would not turn that love astray; 
So keep it, and where'er I go 

My spirit still will guard thy way 
And linger near — not to deceive, 
But o'er thee watch, sweet Genevieve! 

Port Lavaca, Texas, j88.9. 



Stanzas to . 

There's not a word my pen can trace 

To tell thy charms so rare, 
Or note the beauty of thy face, 

So sweet, serene and fair. 
As dew revives the drooping rose 

And brings fresh life again, 
So do thy charms a spell disclose 

Which to define were vain. 



62 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

As some sweet plant that blooms alone 

Untouched save by the shower, 
So hast thou, too, in beauty grown — 

A brig-ht and radiant flower. 
No mag-ic pearl within its shell 

Could be more pure than thee; 
Yet what thou art 'twere vain to tell. 

And must be so, with me. 

I saw thee first in Pleasure's hall 

With Beauty beaming" near; 
I heard thy voice like music fall 

Upon the listening- ear 
And from that hour I knew my soul 

Would be thy willing- slave, 
Nor need I seek to now control 

The love I fondly g-ave. 

But let not this disturb thy breast, 

Or wake one pensive strain; 
Since thou art happy, loved and blest. 

My heart can hide its pain. 
And though it silent aches for thee 

It would not dare impart. 
One single thought whose memory 

Might shade thy tender heart. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 63 

Stanzas to M. T. 

As childhood's days slow fade away 

In vain we check their flig"ht, 
And watch the closing" of each day, 

While tear-drops dim the sig-ht. 
The memory of the past comes back 

And bring-s its joy and pain, 
And in the twilig"ht of life's track 

We wander there again. 

But when the spring* of life is o'er, 

And on the threshold standing, 
A woman fair — a girl no more — 

While pleasures are unending-; 
'Tis then each sorrow is forgot. 

Life seems a g-olden treasure. 
While many a sweet forget-me-not 

Is twined with mirth and pleasure. 

And thoug-h eighteen fair summers now 

Have quickly passed thee by, 
They've added beauty to th}- brow 

And lustre to thine eye. 
They've left no trace of dark despair 

Upon thy radiant face, 



64 MISCEIvLANEOUS POEMS. 

While ill thy bosom pain and care 
To joy have given place. 

And may each year that rolls around 

Bring" naught but love and peace; 
And may each friend that's newly found 

Thy happiness increase. 
And when life's sun draws to its close 

Far down the western skies, 
Oh, may'st thou sink to sweet repose. 

To wake in Paradise! 

/88q, 



Stanzas for Music, 

(Inscribed to M. B. W.) 

There is no heart, however pure. 

But hath its pain and sorrow; 
No trusting- soul but may endure 

Some bitter grief tomorrow. 
Yet still amid the joys and tears 

That come to us in life, 
'Tis better that we hide our fears, 

And meet the coming* strife. 

Weep not because some dreary cloud 
May overcast our way; 



MISCEIvLANEOUS POEMS. 65 

The heart concealed beneath the shroud 

May find a brighter day. 
This life is but a fleeting- part, 

And death blots out all pain; 
And griefs that settle o'er the heart 

But settle there in vain. 

i88q. 



Though Far Away, 

Though far away in other climes, 

While here I linger b}^ the sea, 
Fond memory recalls the times 

I've wandered o'er this spot with thee. 
The waves are rippling just the same, 

The dancing stars are still as bright; 
But all seems changed except in name — 

Thou art so far away tonight. 

The little beach where oft we streiyed 

To watch the ocean ebb and flow; 
Whose laughing billows danced and played- 

Is still the same as long ago. 
The flow'rs that round me smile and bloom 

I feel they, too, are still as gay; 
But o'er this scene there hangs a gloom. 

Because thou art so far away. 

Porf LdToca, Texas, May, iSqo. 



66 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

To A Young Lady. 

(Who asked for a verse of "my own.''). 

You ask for a verse of my own, 

And my answer is this: I will try ! 

But my Muse such a coquette has g-rown, 
All my efforts may end in a sig^h ! 

I am not what I was in the past, 

When to rhyme was my fondest delight; 

Time around me such havoc has cast 
That my day is the same as my night. 

My thoughts are all burdened with care, 
And my life has g-rown sere in its May; 

My heart is as g"ray as my hair, 

Thoug-h my summer has not passed away 

But could I direct my dull pen 

To indite what your charms may inspire, 
My song- would be touched once ag-ain 

With the passion of Love's fond desire. 

And the strings of my harp would renew 
Their tone, which is silent and dead; 

For thy words to my heart are as dew 
On the flower whose brio^htness is fled. 



MISC1ELLANEOUS POEMS. 67 

As the sword may outwear its sheath, 
So my spirit has outworn its case; 

The flowers still cling- to the wreath 

Thoug"h broken and crushed be the vase. 

But you see, you have now your request, 
And a verse of 7ny own I have sent; 

Thoug-h 'tis -poor^ it v/ill do with the rest 
That ma}^ fall from a pen that is bent. 

December, i8qo. 

Stanzas to 



How different mig^ht my life have been 
Had it been linked with thine! — 

The yellow leaves woujd now be g-reen 
If thou wert only mine. 

For love is like a tender vine 
And creeps upon the g-round, 

Unless it finds some staff to twine 
Its tender leaves around. 

And so it is, sweet g'irl, with me, 
Throug-h all life's cloudy morning*: 

My heart must always throb for thee 
Despite fate's timely warning-. 



68 MISCELIvANEOUS POEMS. 

Somewhere I've read a song- of old 
By one who sang- of bliss; 

At least his words were words of g-old, 
And something ran like this: 

"The friends who in our sunshine live, 
When winter comes, are flown; 
And he who has but tears to give, 
Must weep those tears alone." 

And yet the fault, if fault there were, 

Could only be but mine; 
'Tis human though for one to err — 

Forgiveness is divine. 

But now farewell ! thou first of all, 
To me life's dearest treasure; 

May sunbeams round thy pathway fall 
And life bring naught but pleasure. 



Stanzas to- 



Once more beside the Rio Grande ! 

I watch its waters ebb and flow; 
Once more in this fair Southern land 

Where woodbine and palmetto grow. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 69 

The river silent flows along*, 

And wanders to the deep blue sea; 

Some mateless bird pours forth his song- 
From out the tall palmetto tree. 

And I would now enraptured be, 

If thou could'st share my joy with me. 

And here at eve when vesper bells 

Sound sweetly on the perfumed air, 
And song-birds sing- their fond farewells, 

And every leaf seems "stirred with prayer." 
Here in this land of love and peace, 

The roses ever bloom and grow; 
And murmuring waters never cease 

To kiss the breeze in tuneful flow. 
Yet fairer were this land to me 
If I could view it now with thee. 

Last night I wandered o'er the ground 

Where sleeping Matamoros lay; 
The moonbeams softly danced around 

The tranquil scene in ceaseless play. 
Anon, the watch-dog from afar. 

Or night-bird from some castle nigh, 
Broke the sweet stillness — while some star 

Shot dazzling through the cloudless sky. 



70 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

All formed a scene divinely fair 
Except, sweet g"irl, thou wert not there. 

Brownsville, Texas. 'June, 1891. 



To ''Florence,'' 

Sweet, "Florence !" could another share 

This wa3^ward heart of mine, 
It were a pleasant task to dare 

To ask one thought of thine. ^ 
Yet wish I not that heart to feel 

One passing- sigh for me; 
'Twere better that my blood congeal, 
Than that one thought I might reveal, 

Should bring one pang to thee. 

Thy life is like a rose in June 

Beside some crystal river, 
Till blighted by the dark simoon 

It dies away forever. 
Its tender leaves were never meant 

For ruder winds' caressings; 
It falls before its life is spent, 

1 "Sweet Florence! could another ever share 
This wayward, loveless heai't, it would be thine; 
But checked by every tie, I may not dare 
To cast a worthless oflferingr at thy shrine, 

Nor ask so fair a breast to feel one pang for mine." 

Childe Harold, 2—xxx. 



MISCELIvANEOUS POEMS. 71 

It breaks ere yet its stem is bent — 
The best of heaven's blessings. 

vSo, " Florence," may it be with thee 

In life's uncertain measure; 
May fortune's smile thy portion be, 

To bring" thee peace and pleasure. 
And when death ends th}^ j<^ys and woes 

Oh, may no pain be given ! 
But may that hour of last repose. 
With kisses thy sweet eyelids close, 

And light thy way to heaven. 



Retrospection, 

The year' has gone, with many a throng. 

Of blissful dreams and heavenly pleasures; 
Of hopes that twine, with thoughts divine, 
And fill the past with golden treasures. 

Oh, days of love. 

Whose memories rove, 
Across the heart like beams of glory! 

What smiles, what tears. 

What joys and fears, 
Are blended with thy name and story ! 

The rose may bloom and fade away, 

Fond hearts may love and break in twain; 



72 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

But memories fled, are never dead, 
And oft we call them back ag-ain. 

Oh, summer days, 

Of joy and praise! 
Oh, blissful dreams, now gone forever! 

Oh, ling-ering' sighs! 

Oh, fond goodbyes! 
Oh, loving hearts, that met to sever. 

The springtime comes with joy and mirth, 

And robes the earth with gladdening flowers; 
The song-birds free, from every tree. 
Are singing out the golden hours. 

Then summer's smile 

Would fain beguile. 
Till autumn ends our joy and gladness; 

Then winter gray. 

Comes o'er the way, 
And clothes the earth with gloom and sadness. 

Oh, fading past! remembered still! 

Oh, parting joys, how dear thou art! 
The withered leaf, the silent grief, 
Can ne'er efface thee from my heart. 
And through all time. 
The golden chime, 
Of memory's fond, though hidden treasures; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 73 

Will make more dear, 
Kach passing* year, 
That brought its throng of joys and pleasures. 

January /, 1892. 

To Genevieve. 

"Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve! 
In Beauty's light you glide along! 
Your eye is like the star of eve. 
And sweet your voice as seraph's song. 

* * * * .;-. * 

When sinking low the sutferer wan 

Beholds no hand outstretched to save. 

Fair, as the bosom of the swan 

That rises graceful o'er the wave, 

I've seen your breast with pity heave. 

And, therefore, love I you, sweet Genevieve." 

— Coleridge. 

Sweet, Genevieve! long years ago! 

(How fondly I recall the day!) 
Down where old Harpeth's ^ waters flow. 

We laughed and talked the hours away. 
Our hearts were young, and light, and gay. 

Our brows felt not the weight of years, 
And as we watched the birds at play 

We little thought of clouds and tears. 

The sky above was bright and clear. 

The wind swept gently through the trees; 

1 A riv(!r in Tennessee, on whose roinaiitic l>aiik.s is l)t'autifiilly 
sitiuited till! city of Franklin. 



74 MISCEIvLANEOUS POEMS. 

Sweet echoes from the woodland near 
Made music on the evening- breeze. 

And as we talked of pleasures nig-h, 
We only thong"ht of love and joy; 

You were a school g^irl then, and I — 
Well, I was but a heedless bo3\ 

But, Genevieve! we've changed since then; 

And though old Harpeth flows the same. 
It cannot give us back ag-ain 

The youthful joys we once could claim. 
The leaves of life are turning- g"ray, 

The evening- bell has lost its chime; 
And memories of the far-away 

Are spectres on the shores of Time. 

And here tonig-ht beside the sea. 

Where many a lovely flower grows, 
My fancy takes its flight to thee. 

And once again old Harpeth flows 
Just as it did in days g-one by, 

With dancing- waves so light and coy; 
Ah, Genevieve! forgive the sigh! — 

I would I were ag-ain a boy! 

A boy once more, and you a girl! 
Just as we were on that fond day, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 75 

When watching- there the waters whirl, 
We laug-hed and talked the hours away. 

But time stops not in his wild flig^ht, 
So by those joys that once were mine; 

While gazing" on the sea tonig-ht, 
I'll "drink a health to thee and thine. 

Corjius Christi, Texas, June 3, 1893. 



To " Florence,'' 

And thou did'st love me? — Could I feel 

Thy heart was still my own, 
I would not from thy presence steal 

To claim a monarch's throne. 
But in the lig^ht of thy sweet face, 

Which always comes before me, 
I'd ling-er in its heavenly g-race, 

And live but to adore thee. 

Sweet, "Florence!" could'st thou only know 

How fondly still I love thee. 
Thou would'st at least some pity show 

To lig-ht the skies above me. 
But since thou wilt not hear my plea, 

Nor know my pain and ang^uish, 
Breathe but one passing* sigh for me 

While here alone I lang-uish. 



76 miscellane:ous poems. 

To ''Florence.'' 

"Sweet be thy sleep." 

Poor, lifeless form ! so cold, so fair ! 

To weep for thee were vain; 
That bosom now so free from care 

No more can suffer pain. 
And yet I would not hide the tear 

Which comes with every sig-h, 
For thou had'st g-rown so blest and dear 

I thoug^ht thou could'st not die. 

I saw thee first in g-irlhood's hour. 

When life seemed full and sure; 
I saw thee bloom a radiant flow'r, 

A maiden fair and pure. 
But death has chilled that lovely form 

Ere yet life's spring- is o'er, 
And thy young- heart, once g-lad and warm. 

Is stilled forevermore. 

The withered rose greets not the rain 
Which fate too late hath broug-ht; 

So are these tears now doubly vain 
Since they avail me naug-ht. 

They fall upon my bleeding- heart 
Yet bring no peace to me, 



MISCEIvIvANEOUS POEMS. 77 



For every hope life could impart 
Is sleeping- now with thee. 



To Dora, 

"My sister! my sweet sister! if a name 
Dearer and purer were, it should be thine." 

— Byron. 

My own sweet sister! in thy far-off home, 

Surrounded by thy loved ones bless'd and dear; 

May all life's blessings at thy bidding- come, 
Nor Sorrow bring- one solitary tear. 

And ma}^ that fate, which has been mine to roam, 
But lead me on again till thou art near 

To bless and cheer me with that tender smile, 

Which I remember yet through all this while. 

I did recall tonight some fleeting days 
Of long" ag"o — now passed away forever — 

And as the Sun of Youth cast back his rays 
I felt within my heart a strange, sad quiver. 

Youth gone, hopes vanished, nothing left to. praise 

Along the shores of Memory's surging river. 

But "Dead Sea Fruit," which strews the trackless 
waste, 

O'er which alas! 'tis mine to roam in haste. 

All, all is changed — each once familiar spot 
Is not the same I knew in years gone by; 



78 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Forg-etting- not, as I am now forg"ot, 

The memory of the past brings but a sigh. 

Youth's roses and each sweet forget-me-not 

Have lost their fragrance and too soon must die; 

While I must wander on from year to year, 

Far from the childhood's home I loved so dear. 

Yet would I see thee free from ever}^ pain, 

Though well I know thou hast thy sorrow^s, too ; 

But clouds that come must pass away again. 
And leave a sky still beautiful and true. 

This were a lonely world without some rain, 

And flowers soon fade without the summer's dew. 

And as the dew revives the drooping flowers, 

Perhaps the rain falls in this life of ours. 

I have no one to blame for each misdeed 
My follies in the past, alone were mine; 

From the "Forbidden Fruit" I gathered seed 
And sowed them without fear of race or line. 

I followed neither men's advice nor creed. 

Nor sought the wise, life's meaning to define. 

My faults were all my own, nor do I care, 

To have another now these faults to share. 

In earliest youth I had one tender love — 
A love of nature and of nature's own; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 79 

My sweetest joy was by some stream to rove 
And linger there an hour with thee alone. 

And if my youth's ambition vainly strove 

To reach the heights of song, not then unknown, 

I only know those moments were most dear 

Because, my own sweet sister, thou wert near. 

And as the years now swiftly pass me by, 

The scenes of youth should come with double joy; 

Nor could I now forget, though I should try. 
The joyous scenes I knew but as a boy. 

And yet in all these memories comes a sigh 
To sadden, darken and perchance annoy. 

And bring a shadow where the sun should dwell, 

For who can say without a sigh, "Farewell !" 

And did I not, in far, receding years, 
Bid a farewell to tender youth and thee? 

And did I not feel Sorrow's untimed tears 
Flow from my soul like rivers to the sea? 

Alas! Misfortune with its pangs and fears. 
And Disappointment with its agony. 

Though they may crush, they cannot all efface 

The memory of each vanished scene or place. 

But let me cease — my spirit feels the weight 
Of other years, and I suppress a sigh; 



80 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

I do not care my sorrows to relate 

To g-rieve thy bosom in its constancy. 

Thou wert my own sweet sister, and though Fate 
Hath torn our souls asunder, let me die 

Believing- throug^h long- years thou art the same, 

The one pure heart whose love I still can claim. 

But now farewell ! — thoug-h oceans roll between, 
Within my heart thine image is secure; 

I hear thee, see thee in each cherished scene 
Where Nature smiles in loveliness most pure. 

And through all time no fate can intervene 
To make my love of thee less fond or sure. 

Thou zvert my own sweet sister, and to me 

Thou art the same through all eternity. 



To A Youthful Friend} 

Sweet girl, your moments to beguile, 

A verse or two I'll send you; 
And if m\^ rhyme brings not a smile, 

I hope 'twill not offend you. 
And while I do not seek to act 

As guide or strict adviser, 

1 The "Youthful Friend" is Miss Marguerite Coleman, eldest 
daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas A. Coleman of San Antonio. Though 
still a schoolgirl, she is noted for the sweetness of a disposition which 
makes her friends wherever she is known.— 1903. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 81 

However rude or roug*h, the fact 
Will always make us wiser. 

Just now you stand on g-irlhood's shore 

A fair and lovely maiden, 
And Pleasure's mantle hovers o'er 

Your bark, with flowers laden. 
Your morn of life is calm and brig"ht, 

No clouds you can discover. 
But soon, too soon, may come the nig^ht 

Ere yet the day is over. 

Then let no flatterer's g-olden thread 

Distract your thoughts so tender; 
The ashes that too oft seem dead 

Conceal the fatal cinder. 
Before you life is full and sure, 

Yet in the bright tomorrow. 
The trusting- heart, however pure. 

May find a g-olden sorrow. 

The noblest g-ift of God to man 

Is woman in her g'lory; 
But yet I do not seek to scan 

Her oft-repeated story. 
And thoug^h this world were won and lost 

By her too-oft deceiving-, 



MISCELIvANEOUS POEMS. 

I think that man should bear the cost, 
Nor curse his own believing*. 

Among" the nettles oft is seen 

Some brig-ht and radiant flower; 
So may'st thou bloom in grace serene 

And wield a woman's power. 
Not power to vanquish worlds unknown, 

Or darken homes with sorrow; 
But power to g-race that purest throne 

Which none can take or borrow. 

The trusting- heart that fondest loves 

Sometimes is soonest broken; 
And time, alas! too deeply proves 

The weig-ht of false words spoken. 
But may your tender life be so 

Such fate it will not merit. 
Nor sorrow crown with pain and woe 

Your pure and radiant spirit. 

Give smiles to those who love you not, 
And sig"hs to those most cherished; 

It little matters who's forg-ot 

When that most loved has perished. 

A brig-ht reward your life will crown 
With goodness e'er prevailing-. 



MISCELIvANEOUS POEMS. 83 

So never seek some grief to drown 
By treacherous friends assailing-. 

In every life some pain must come 

To bring- us back to feeling-; 
Some shadow flit across each home 

Which there is no concealing-. 
Yet still in patience bear your part, 

'Twill brig-hter make the morning; 
And add a grandeur to that heart 

Which smiles at Fate's dark warning-, 

And now farewell, sweet youthful friend ! 

May life be e'er a treasure; 
And may no trifling pangs attend 

To mar your peace and pleasure. 
May Fortune claim you as her own, 

And when life's dream is ended. 
May every thought your heart has known 

With love and truth be blended. 



" Remember Thee ? " 

" Remember thee ? " — By all that's sweet, 
And bright, and pure, and fair, 
Wherever fate may guide my feet 
Thou'lt be my only care. 



84 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Though I may g-o where mountains frown, 

Or cross the boundless sea, 
The brightest gems in Memory's crown 

Will be my thoughts of thee. 

I'll dream of thee by night and day, 

And thou wilt be the star 
To light my lone and cheerless way, 

And guide me from afar. 
And when life's weary race is run 

And all should cheerless be, 
Through gathering mists will break the sun, 

For then I'll think of thee. 

February 21, 1897. 



Stanzas for Music. 

When my heart lone and dreary, 

Would cease to be weary, 
And bask in the sunshine of pleasures divine. 

O'er me comes softly stealing, 

But one thought or feeling, 
And I see in my dreaming no vision but thine. 

Like a sunbeam from heaven, 
When dark clouds are riven. 



MISCBLIvANEOUS POEMS. 85 

Thy sweet face comes to me and ends every fear; 

Yet, when I discover 

My dreaming" is over, 
My soul cries in ang-uish, "Why art thou so dear?" 

By all that is dearest, 

By all that is nearest, 
By all that is sacred, I now come to thee; 

Say not that my seeming' 

Shall all end in dreaming-, 
But let thy sweet spirit sig"h sometimes for me. 



Lines. 

(Accompanying a bunch of roses.) 

By these sweet fiow'rs, to me divine, 

I pledg-e my heart to thee; 
Yet if it shares no thoug-hts of thine 

Send back the flowers to me. 
But should it share that thoug-ht, each rose 

A secret sweet will tell; 
A simple tale it will disclose 

Of him who loves so well. 
Accept them, then, and let them be 
A plcdg-e of my sincerity. 

March ;>:i. /s,'*7. 



86 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Versicles. 

As waves betray the ocean's deep emotion, 
So do my words reveal my heart's devotion. 

When lovers part, at first the dark clouds g-ather; 
But parted, soon ag-ain there comes fair weather. 



Stanzas to . 

Tonight when I saw thee 

So lovely and fair. 
With beauty all beaming- 

And free from all care; 
I knew that I loved thee, 

And felt that my heart, 
Was slave to thy wishes, 

All false as thou art 

Thy smiles to another 

Were g^iven as free 
As those on tomorrow 

Will be given to me; 
And 3'et I would love thee 

Wert thou twice as false still, 
For my heart is thine only 

To bend at thy will. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 87 

Did I say thou wert false to me? 

Forgive! — I was wrong"; 
'Twas my jealous heart speaking, 

Sweet theme of my song! 
A heart that's as pure as thine, 

A face that's as sweet, 
Could ne'er prove untrue or false, 

Or smile with deceit. ^ 

April 11. 1897. 

At Evening Time, 

At evening time, when twilight's hour 
Adds fragrance to the tender flower. 
And sheds that sweetness o'er the earth 
Which lulls the song-birds in their mirth, 

1 In copying this poem I found on the back of the original manu- 
script the following: note, which referred to the last stanza: 

I was wrong. This stanza should have been: 

Did I say thou wert false to me?— 

How well did I guess it; 
Though I had not the courage 

Until now to confess it. 
Thy heart was not true to me, 

And thy face, ever sweet. 
Glowed not with true friendship. 

But smiled with deceit. 

APRIL II, 1902. 

Beneath tliis was written: 

'Tis idl(! to sorrow 

For joys that are fled; 
'Tis madness to borrow 

From leaves that are dead 
A wreath that is withert^d— 

And vain is tlie tear 
For liop(^s that lie smothered — 

For days that are sere. 

APRIL I I, 1903. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

In that sweet hour of melody; 
My memory fondly turns to thee. 

And when the twilight fades and dies, 

And stars smile softly from the skies; 

When Nature sinks at last to rest, 

And slumber soothes each throbbing- breast; 

In that still hour thy face I see, 

And wander in my dreams to thee. 

And when the daylig-ht g-ently breaks, 
And from his sleep the song-birds wakes; 
When Nature dons her brightest hue, 
And sunbeams kiss the morning dew; 
In that bright hour there comes to me 
One fond and lingering thought of thee. 

Ajn'il 12, 1897. 

Frances. 

Oh, fairer than a cloudless morn. 

Is she, this queen of earthlj^ fairiesi 
And sent by angels to adorn 

These Western flow'r-besprinkled prairies. 
To see her is to love her, and 

To know her means you must adore her; 
One motion of her jeweled hand 

Makes proud men humbly kneel before her. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 89 

Her mag-ic voice is sweet to hear, 

And like a siren's son^- entrances; 
In all this world there's none so dear 

As pretty, dark-eyed, 'witching- Frances. 
And when at evening- by her side 

I sometimes sit and fondly ling-er, 
I soon forg-et my boasted pride 

And worship even her little fing-er. ^ 

Her sunny smiles are like the lig-ht 

Whichbreaksthroug-h lowering-clouds that g^ather; 
They fill my soul with visions brig-ht, 

And drive away all g-loomy weather. 
There's something- in those smiles so sweet 

That all who ever once receive them, 
Will soon be kneeling- at her feet — 

For none can see and not believe them. 

And then her eyes! — No pen can tell 
The fire that from them softly flashes; 

Nor need I ling-er here to dwell 
Upon those drooping- silken lashes. 

But this I know — when she is near 
I feel the mag-ic of her g-lances, 

1 "If ye would not hao nio linsror, 
Plcudiiiir at your feet; 
Worshippintr your little tinker— 
Dinna be sac sweet."* 

—OhI SoiHj. 

*I ((uote from mciTiory.— HKKJ. 



90 MISCEI^I^ANEOUS POEMS. 

And then with many a doubt and fear 
I kneel — the slave of dark-ej-ed Frances. 

May lb., 1897 

Stanzas to . 

When my heart feels the weight of its sorrow, 

And my soul seems forsaken and lone, 
Throug-h the darkness I see a bright morrow, 

And the clouds soon are vanished and gone. 
For thy vision comes gently before me, 

And thy sweet face in fancy I see; 
And a feeling of rapture steals o'er me. 

For my life finds its being in thee. 

Like the sweet Star of Hope that is dawning 

For the sailor that's lost on the sea. 
Thy angel face came as the morning— 

A light through the shadows for me. 
It came as a sunbeam from heaven 

When dark clouds are lowering above. 
And the joy which thy friendship hath given 

Is the joy that is hallowed by love. 

If m}^ heart should at times feel that lightness 

It hath felt not in many a year; 
If my soul through the gloom sees a brightness, 

It is only because thou art near. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 91 

Like the dew to the lone, thirsting- flower, 
Came thy vision to me in the nig-ht; 

And the pleasure I felt in that hour 
Was the pleasure of truth and of light. 

There is something- so sweet in thy meaning-^ 
And a look in thy face so divine, 

That I feel only death intervening- 
Can sever my spirit from thine. 

Even then, when life's dreaming- is over, 
And the rose hath ceased blooming- for me, 

In that moment perhaps thou'lt discover 
That my spirit still ling-ers with thee. 

i8q7. 



Stanzas for Music, 

If I could tell in words divinel}' sweet, 

My love for thee; 
If I could move thy heart in its retreat. 

With melod}^; 
I'd tell thee of a love that could not die, 
And sing- to thee a song- sweet as a summer's sig-h. 

If I could press thee fondly to ni}' heart. 

And call thee mine; 
If I could know that we would never part. 

But like the vine. 



92 MISCEIvIvANEOUS POEMS. 

Cling- closer in the storm. Could I know this, 
Then I would ask of heaven no more of heavenly 

bliss. October ly, 1897. 

Fragment. 

You ask me if I love you? 
If my heart will e'er be true? 

If I could live 

And always give 
My every thought to you? 

And my answer is, if loving 
Be to live for none but thee. 

Then evermore. 

Till life is o'er, 
My heart will constant be. 

i8q8. 



Time's Changes. 

(Written on revisiting the San Marcos river.) 

I stood today by a crystal stream 
Where grow the fig and vine; 

I saw in fancy's fleeting dream 
That old sweetheart of mine. 

For here among these tangled braes. 
In years of long ago. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 93 

We whiled awaj' the summer days, 
And watched the waters flow. 

Sweet summer days! sweet woodland ways! 

Thy joys I'll ne'er forg-et! 
Ye call from me a word of praise, 

But bring- no vain reg-ret. 
For she who roams today with me 

And views this scene divine. 
Is dearer than could ever be 

That old sweetheart of mine. 

'Tis pleasant sometimes to recall 

The days of auld lang- syne, 
And live 'mid youthful scenes, and all 

That with fond memories twine. 
But standing- here, with one so dear. 

Beside this crystal stream, 
Methought today it seemed more clear 

Than it could ever seem. 

March lo, i8(j8. 

Stanzas for Music, 

Why do I worship thee? why do I sig-h for thee? 

Why do I find in thee all that is dear? 
Is there no love {or me? is there no hope for me? 

Must I still look on thee with doubt and fear? 



94 MISCEIvLANEOUS POEMS. 

Is there no sweet reward for love undying'? 

Must doubt, and pain, and fear, be always mine? 
Does not my faithful heart, in anguish crying-, 

Call forth one tender sigh, but one of thine? 

October ly, iSgg. 

The Storm King.^ 

TO 

COL. ROBERT G. LOWE, 2 

WHO WAS A WITNESS TO THE CRUEL STORM 

THAT WRECKED BEAUTIFUL 

GALVESTON, 

THESE LINES ARE AFFECTIONATELY 

INSCRIBED. 

I. 

Oh, the horror! 
Oh, the sorrow! 
Of that night upon the strand! 

1 "On Saturday and Saturday night, September 8, 1900, Galveston 
was visited by the most fearful and destructive storm in the history of 
the New World. The wind combined with the waves in spreading' 
havoc over the island, and thousands of lives were lost— many unfor- 
tunates, whose names will never be known, being carried far out to sea. 
Others were buried in the ruins of fallen houses, and hundreds more 
were washed upon the beach, their ghastly faces making a horrible 
picture after daylight came. Human hyenas moved among the dead 
seeking treasure, and all day Sunday and Sunday night this ghoulish 
work of robbing the dead was kept up— principally by negroes, many of 
whom were drunk. The storm first struck Galveston about noon Sat- 
urday, but it was not until 10 o'clock at night that it reached its great- 
est force. For two hours then it raged with maddened fury and the 
destruction it caused was truly appalling. A little after midnight the 
storm began to abate and the waters receded rapidly. Daylight came at 
last and revealed a picture so dark and gruesome I cannot even attempt 
a description of it. Some estimate the loss of life at ten thousand."— 
[Extract from a letter dated at Galveston, Monday, September 10, 1900- 

2 I arrived in Galveston the day after the storm, and among those I 
met was Col. Robert G. Lowe, the veteran newspaper man— for many 



MISCEIvLANBOUS POEMS. 95 

Storm King* groaning-, 

Ocean moaning-, 
Terror brooding o'er the land. 

People crying-, 

People dying-, 
Death-shrieks coming- nearer, nearer! 

Mad waves lashing-! 

Rushing", crashing-! 
Filling- every soul with terror. 

II. 

Up around the fated city 

Came the angry waters creeping. 
Without mercy, without pit}^ 

Howled the wild waves, madly sweeping-. 
Oh, the horror, and the sorrow. 

Of that night of wild despair! 
What a scene came with the morrow: 

Daath and Ruin everywhere! 

III. 

Sorrow, Death and Devastation! 
Everywhere a g-hastly form! 



96 MISCEIvIvANEOUS POEMS. 

Who can paint the desolation 

Of that fierce and cruel storm? 
Here a child, and there a mother, 
Here a sister, there a brother, 
Here a father — there another 

Nameless evermore to be. 
Thousands carried out to ocean. 
Sport of every wild wave's notion. 
Swollen forms with dreary motion, ^ 
Floating- out upon the sea. 

Oh, the horror! 

Oh, the sorrow! 
Of that nig-ht of strug-g^ling", straining-! 

While the dawning-. 

Of the morning-, 
Broug-ht no hope to those remaining-. 

IV. 

Everywhere was isolation, 
Everywhere was desolation. 
Everywhere poor man's creation 
Felt the force of wind and wave. 

1 I saw many human bodies floating in the bay, which was calm 
when I crossed it on my way to Galveston, and the peculiarly dreary 
motion of these bodies was remarked by each and everyone of our party. 
There were bodies of men, women and children, all in a state of almost 
complete nudity, and each body floating face downward. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 97 

And the living g-azed and shivered, 

Gazed and moaned, and strong hearts quivered. 

Fearful lest they were delivered 

For a still more cruel grave. 
But the Storm King spent his power 

Kre the dawning of the morning; 
Spent it at the midnight hour — 

Came and gave no timely warning. 

V. 

All along the once fair beach, 
Far as searching eye could reach, 
Mingled with the wreck and ruin 

Lifeless forms were here and there; 
And among them seeking treasure, 
Human vultures moved with measure, 
Finding an inhuman pleasure 
In each dim eye's ghastly stare. 

Oh, the horror! 

Oh, the sorrow! 
Oh, the scenes upon the strand! 

Wild waves raging! 

Ruin waging! 
Dealing death on every hand. 
Laying low a beauteous city, 

Filling hearts with woe and pain; 



98 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Cruel Storm King-, without pity, 
Tell me, what has been thy g-ain? 

September /j, igoo. 

Lines. 

(To one who will understand them.) 

They tell me thou art happy, and I feel 

That I should thus share in thy happiness; 

For still my heart can love thee none the less, 
Nor can I less reg-ard thy joy and weal. ^ 
Yet it were better did I not reveal 

The thoug*hts that ling-er still within my heart, 

And of my very life become a part; 
And yet such thoug^hts I cannot all conceal. 
Thou wert my destiny, and such must be, 

I do not care to claim another now; 
'Twere better, dearer, sweeter still to me 

To live within the memory of each vow 
Than trust to others — thoug-h however true. 

They could not make an impress on my heart; 
For all of love I ever felt or knew 

Was g-iven to thee. This knowledge I impart 
Not with the wish of causing thee one sig*h, 

Or bringing- back one recollection vain; 

1 "Well! thou art happy, and I feel 

That I should thus be happy too; 
For still my heart regards thy weal 
Warmly, as it was wont to do." 

— Byron. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 99 

I would not mar the brig^htness of thine eye 

Thoug-h I should suffer every woe and pain. 
I only know I loved thee but too well; 
I only know my anguish none can tell. 
Thou mig-h'st have played a nobler part, and won — 
"I would not do by thee as thou hast done!" 



igQ2 



Stanzas to . 

However much I may have loved, 

I do not love thee now; 
For time has but too deeply proved 

The frailty of each vow. 
I loved thee — not as others love. 

Mine was a soul's devotion; 
Its strength no words can tell or prove, 

Its depth was as the ocean. 

But let no idle words of mine 

Recall one thought in vain; 
May joy and peace be ever thine — 

Give me the woe and pain. 
Forget the love I fondly g^ave, 

Forg-et each vow I made thee; 
Love's hopes have found a silent grave. 

Still I would not upbraid thee. 
L.cfC. 



100 MISCEI^IvANEOUS POEMS. 



Stanzas to 



(On hearing that she was ill.) 

I know too well thy tender heart 

Will never throb for me; 
I know I will not share a part 

Of joys that come to thee. 
And yet it fills my heart with pain 

To know that ling-ering- Care, 
Should hold the cup for thee to drain, 

Or cloud thy brow so fair. 

When first I heard that thou wert ill 

My heart felt deep its sorrow; 
I knew I was not loved, yet still 

No peace my soul could borrow. 
I shared thy ang-uish, pain and woe. 

And thou wert drawn the nearer. 
For all of sorrow thou mayest know 

Will only make thee dearer. 

The bird that droops with wounded wing-. 

While sadly it may languish. 
Perhaps its sweetest notes will sing-. 

For sweetness comes with ang-uish. 
And so tonight my heart pours forth. 

Its thoughts to thee so tender; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 101 

It sings a song, though little worth, 
Is all that love can render. 

And if one wish availeth now. 

That wish will be for thee; 
May joy and pleasure wreathe thy brow, 

And pain no longer be. 
And though our paths apart must lie, 

My heart, in all its prayers. 
Will ask for thee a cloudless sky — 

A life free from all cares. 

J line 22, i')02. 

To M. a 

(Written in the album of an English girl.) 

I've heard it said an English maid 

Was always hard to woo, 
But I would never be afraid 

To tell my thoughts to you. 
For there's a look in your sweet eyes 

That saying to disprove, 
A look that tells of Paradise, 

And bids poor mortals love. 
And since 'tis mine to love so well 
What harm if I my passions tell? 

Gahcston., .S'<//. / y, /ycj. 



102 MISCELIvANEOUS POEMS. 

To a Southern Girl. 

'(Who made her home in the North.) 

Sweet Maid of the South! in thy home far away, 

When the moonbeams around thee are playing-; 

When the night draws a veil o'er the fair autumn 
day, 

And thy sweet thoughts g"o longingl}^ straying; 
In that soft, dreamy hour, when no one is near 

To remind thee of life's subtle seeming-, 
Give to me, if thou wilt, but one thought so dear, 

And remember me still in thy dreaming-. 

I oft think of thee, when the night comes to me, 
For thy vision stands ever before me; 

I feel all the lig'ht, of thy dark eyes so bright, 
And I wake from my dreams to adore thee. 

So come back ag-ain to the land of thy birth. 

To the land where the wild bees are humming-; 

Where the rose sheds its frag-rance so sweet o'er the 
earth — 

Where the birds will rejoice at thy coming-. 

October, 1902. 

Sweet Beulah Rowe. 

Sweet Beulah Rowe! 
The flowers that g-row 
In the blest Vale of far Kashmeer, 



MISCELIvANEOUS POEMS. 103 

Are not more sweet, 
In their retreat, 
Than thy loved form, to me so dear. 

Thy matchless eyes, 

Blue as the skies 
From which they draw their heavenly g-low; 

New joys impart, 

And fill my heart 
With thoug-hts divine. Sweet Beulah Rowe! 

'Tis sweet to be 

At eve with thee, 
And hear the nig-htwinds softly blow; 

For then it seems. 

Life's sw^eetest dreams. 
Steal o'er my heart, Sweet Beulah Rowe! 

And though we part. 

My wayward heart, 
Will throb for thee, where'er I g-o; 

And with this wine, 

To me divine, 
I'll drink thy health, Sweet Beulah Rowe! 

April 4, njoj 



104 MISCEIvLANEOUS POEMS. 

Stanzas to Clara. 

(Composed while standing by the San Antonio river.) 

Here, by this clear and winding- stream, 

Whose waters murmur to the sea; 
Where languid nature seems to dream — 

My fancy wing's its flig-ht to thee. 
The river slowly winds along-, 

Its ripples laug-hing- far and near; 
The mocking-bird sing-s his sweet song-, 

And tells of one to me so dear. 
Yet sweeter still his song- would be 
If tkou could'st hear it sung- with me. 

And musing- by this stream alone, 

And listening- to this song--bird's lay. 
My spirit could not help but own 

Its love for one so far away. 
The nig-ht-winds round me softly sig-h, 

And ling-er, that they mig-ht beg-uile; 
The stars look sweetly from the sky, 

And Nature wears her softest smile. 
All form a scene that were divine 
If f/iy dear hand were clasped in mine 

Afav, 1903. 



MISCELIvANEOUS POEMS. 105 

Contessa. 

Sweet evening- bells! 

Thy music swells, 
And brings sweet peace to hearts grown gray; 

But joys divine, 

No more are mine — 
Contessa is so far away. 

The twilight hour, 

Whose magic pow'r, 
Once filled my soul with melody; 

Now seems as dead 

As bright hopes fled — 
Contessa's sighs are not for me. 

Fond memories dear 
Bring but a tear. 
And hope and joy I must resign; 
Across my heart 
Dark shadows start — 

Contessa's smiles no more are mine. 

J "(vs. 190 J 

A Summer Idyl.^ 

It chanced on a balmy summer night. 

When the moon was young and the stars were bright, 

1 This poem was written by a friend of mine— Will Manlove of 
Kyle, Texas,— one of the nohlest-liearted yonntr nuMi I ever knew and 
who died early in life from a disease l)r()ua:ht on by over-study. After 
the poem was written he submitted it to nie ajnl.actiiiir on siurtrestions 
of mine, made two or three minor chiinires. In the nuiin, liowever, the 



106 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And the blossoms slept in their mystic light, 

And were lulled by the zephyr's sig"hs; 
That a wondrous change in my heart was wrought, 
Of hopes and fears and bewildering thought, 
By a maiden fair whom the angels brought 

From the realms of Paradise! 
A fairy maiden, from the Garden of Paradise. 

A fairy rose whom the angels name 
After the fiow'r from whence she came, 
* 'Flora!" — Queen of the flowery clime, 
To Poesy sacred and in song sublime. 
And this peerless maiden from realms above. 
Stealing down gently on the wings of a dove, 
Has opened my bosom and stolen my love, 
Melted my heart and stolen my love. 

And the hours of that night were told, 

And too soon my dream returned to earth, 
And morning came with its purple and gold. 

And glorious in its birth. 
But that fairy face with its brow so fair. 
Crowned with its glory of nut-brown hair. 
Like the morning sunshine streaming there, 

Still nestled in my heart; 
Softly and gently, nestled in my heart. 

Kyle, Texas, May BO, 1884. 

poem was exclusively his own, and after its publication in a local paper, 
he imparted the information that he had written it for me. That alone 
would be sufficient, to say nothing of the warm friendship that existed 
between us, to entitle the poem to a place in this little volume. — 1903. 



DESTINY. 107 



DESTINY. 

Tonig-ht while musing- on the thing's that were, 

When "I beheld what never was to be," 

From out the far and distant past, 

Speaking- as with the tongue of Prophecy, 

There came to me the tale of one 

Whose life, like mine, was filled with pain and woe. 

'Twas years ago, when youth was mine to claim, 

That I by chance first read this passing tale; 

And thoug-h I cannot now recall it all. 

Yet in it there were these few lines 

Which I remember well: 

" 'Why speak of love? I have no heart to give! 
We merely loved to pass the hours away! 
No, no! no more of this, please, while I live! 

Whate'er was done, was done in simple play.' 
She turned and left him — left him silent, still I — 
His heart was broken by a woman's will." 

'Tis strang-e that I recall these lines at such a time; 

But memory wanders at its own sweet will 

And bring-s us back those very things 

We thought forgotten were. 

But I must speak no more of love, 

So, "Florence," adieu! and I will wander on. 



108 DESTINY. 

For should I near thee long-er stay 
My heart ag-ain were thine. ^ 

And yet I fain would linger still, 
Kven as the moth (for such I am) 
That flits around the candle till its wing-s, 
Caug-ht in the flames, are burnt and seared. 
And then it falls and dies. 
Yes, I would linger near to thee, 
For death with thee were more than life without. 
And parted as we are tonig-ht, 
One thought, and one alone, is in my heart — 
A thought of thee and thine. 
Beside me flows a sweet and silvery stream. 
While from a vine-clad tree 
A mockingbird, unconscious of my pain. 
Tells of his joy in song. 

The moon smiles softly from a cloudless sky, 
And here my poet-nature claims my thoughts 
And forms these heedless lines: 

TO "FLORENCE." 
'Tis sweet, when stars shine soft above, 

To feel fond Nature's thrill; 
'Tis sweet to think of those we love. 

When all around is still. 

1 "But near thee I could never stay— 
My heart would soon agrain be thine." 

—Byron. 



DESTINY. 109 

.'Tis sweet to feel there is one heart, 

Thoug-h it ma}^ absent be, 
Where we can claim a tender part — 

One thoug-ht from censure free. 
Yet sweeter still than these, than this, 
Is Love's sincere, impassioned kiss. 

And here tonig-ht by this sweet stream, 

Thy vision comes to me; 
My soul has but one ling-ering* dream — 

A dream of thine and thee. 
The waters murmuring- at my feet. 

The song-bird warbling* near, 
Make music that is strangely sweet 

And tells of one so dear. 
And in this hour of dreamy bliss 
My spirit g-ives to thine a kiss. 

Thus did my troubled heart pour out its song- 

To her who is its being- and its life. 

Till on the night-winds came a sad refrain 

Which shook my spirit in its loneliness. 

'Twas the refrain of a poor strug-g-ling- soul 

Crying- in anguish o'er departed hopes, 

And as the ni<rht-winds brouirht the murnuirini>s 

near 
These words fell deathlike on my listening- ear: 



110 DESTINY. 

' 'Go, wounded heart, and cease thy endless sig-hing*! 
In vain! In vain!! — She heeds thy pleading-s not; 
Thy bitter sorrow can but end in dying- — 
Go! — Be forg-etful as thou art forg-ot!" 
The murmuring's ceased as quickly as they came 
But left a shadow o'er my weary heart; 
Nor will that shadow pass away ag-ain 
Until the sunlig-ht of thy radiant smile. 
Like the sweet light of heaven, illumes my way, 
And bids me live and hope. 

But why should I my destiny bewail? 
Why long-er love, when love bring"s only pain? 
Is there no way to break the cruel chain 
And cease to be the slave of love and thee? 

Hearts break, 'tis true, yet stand the withering" 
blig-ht. 
And life will ling-er when all hope is fled; 
The day may change into a starless night, 
And yet the soul's slow fire will not be dead. 
So it shall be with me, and though the blight 
May wither what it will not kindly kill. 
Yet I shall stand the pain, and nevermore 
Will murmurs from my shattered spirit fall. 
'Twas mine to love, let mine the sorrow be, 
And when the rose shall bloom no more for me, 
In quiet let me sink to earth unloved, 
"And there, at least, my heart will ne'er be 

moved." Jnly.iSq-. 



LOVE'S SORROW. Ill 



LOVE'S SORROW.' 

"No; grayer insects fluttering hy 
Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die, 
And lovelier things have mercy shown 
To every failing but their own. 
And every woe a tear can claim 
Except an erring woman's shame." 

—Byron's "Giaour." 

'Twas evening' as I chanced to stroll 

Where sweet San Pedro's waters roll; 

The crystal spring's ^ that formed the stream 

Made music soft as childhood's dream. 

And ling'ering' by that stream so sweet, 

Where lovers find a blest retreat, 

My heart forg-ot its every care — 

Lost in this scene so brig-ht and fair. 

From every tree the song-birds sang'. 

All nature with sweet music rang'; 

Soft murmurings from the waters near 

Fell g-ently on the listening' ear; 

And I forg-ot that woe and pain 

Still ling'ered in this world so vain. 

But as I mused, a heartfelt sig^h 

Disturbed my dream, and turning', I 

Beheld a form that seemed divine, 

So softly beamed her e3'^es on mine. 

1 This story is taken from life. 

2 The beautiful springs that form the San IVdro river nuike out! of 
San Antonio's chief attractions and are visited by nearly all tourists 
who T>aHs through that city. 



112 IvOVE'S SORROW. 

Her sweet lips parted with a smile 
That had not aught of sin and guile, 
Yet I could see that Sorrow's dart 
Had pierced her young- and tender heart. 
Her face was sweet, yet sadly grave, 

Her bright eye sparkled with a tear; 
The lingering look to me she gave 

Was one of mingled pain and fear. 
Her hair was like the raven's wing 

And matched the glory of her eyes; 
Her voice had that soft dulcet ring 

Which fills the heart with mute surprise. 
No words of mine that I can trace 
Could tell the beauty of her face, 
Yet I could see that pain and care 
Had like a shadow settled there. 
"Why should a face so soft and fair 
Be clouded with such dark despair?" 
I musing asked, and then her eye 
Glowed softly, as she made reply: 

"There was a time, I need not name, ^ 
When I life's sweetest joys could claim. 

1 This line is stolen literally from one of Byron's miscellaneous 
poems, but the theft was not discovered until after "Love's Sorrow" 
had been written— a friend making the discovery for me. As I have no 
line of my own to take its place, I have decided to let it stand and with- 
out any further credit than this footnote. 



LOVE'S SORROW. 113 

I nothing- knew of shame and sin, 

My heart was trustful, light and gay; 
I thought that honor dwelt with men 

And little dreampt they could betray. 
I gave m}^ love, as others do. 

Confiding all to him so strong; 
I felt that he was brave and true — 

Too generous for a single wrong. 
Mine was a love to end with death. 
He was my being and my breath; 
The very ground on which he trod 
I worshipped — for he was my God. 
For me there was no sunshine bright 
When he w^as absent from my sight. 
He was a man. and I a girl^ 

Yet mine was still a woman'' s love; 
Caught madly in wild Passion's whirl 

I only sought that love to prove. 
He knew I loved him, knew my heart 
Asked but to share of his a part. 
And when he gave me that first kiss 
My very soul was steeped in bliss. 
I saw before my vision rise 
A fairy scene — Love's Paradise. 
My youthful heart longed for his kisses, 
There was a heaven in his caresses. 



114 LOVE'S SORROW. 

His very look would hope inspire, 
His touch would set my soul on fire, 
He was my all, my heart's desire. 
But I awoke from love's mad dream, 

Across my heart there was a shade; 
My soul could not suppress a scream 

To find I was beti'ayed! 
Oh, cruel fate! that I should be 
The victim of love's constancy! 
A trustful g-irl whose youthful mind 
Could only g-ood in nature find; 
Whose life was like a summer song-. 
So soft and sweet it flowed along-; 
Betrayed by one who seemed too true 
A little deed or act to do; 
Destroyed by one I deemed divine, 
By one I thoug-ht was wholly mine. 
Where shall I turn! where seek a friend. 

To soothe me in my lonely hours? 
What pleasures can existence lend? 

What hope is there in withered flowers? 
Alas, for girl! alas, for maid! 
Who wakes to find herself betrayed! 
For her there is no hope in life, 
For her there is but pain and strife; 



LOVE'S SORROW. 115 

While he who that fond heart betrays 
Too oft finds those to sing- his praise." 

She ceased — and thoug-h her soft eyes g-lowed, 
The hot tears from them silent flowed; 
Her smooth cheek wore a radiant flush, 
The color of the rose's blush. 
And as I g^azed upon that face, 
Where youth and love I still could trace, 
I felt that curses strong" and deep 
Were his, who made those brig^ht eyes weep. 
His be the pain and his the woe, 
May Fate no tender mercy show 
To one who played so vile a part 
And wrecked, for aye! a trusting- heart. 

''Where shall I turn!" — These sad words thrill, 
And ling-er in my memory still; 
And oftimes on the evening" air 
I hear that wail of wild despair. 
Had she no friend that she could call? 

No hand to soothe her fevered brow? 
Was no one near to stay her tall. 

Or turn adrift Distraction's plow? 
Alas! for her who steps aside! — 
For her the pit is deep and wide; 



116 LOVE'S SORROW. 

Once entered on her downward way 
No g-enerous hand her course will stay. 
Caug-ht in the current, borne along-, 
Wrecked by the siren's treacherous song-. 
She sinks beneath the cruel wave 
And sleeps in a forg-otten g-rave. 

But scarce a month had passed away 

Since by San Pedro's banks I strayed, 
When she, the theme of my poor lay, 

Knelt silently and prayed. 
Her heart was bleeding-, and her eyes 

Were dim with tears she vainly shed; 
For her there were no cloudless skies. 

Life's joys and hopes were fled. 
What can she do? where can she find 
Peace for her feverish, troubled mind? 
Cannot her youth and beauty claim 
Another home than one of shame? 
Must she still lead a life of sin? 
Is there no joy that she can win? 
Alas, poor soul! 'tis now too late 
To stay the hand of cruel Fate; 
Thy little bark is swept along 
By currents treacherous, swift and strong. 
'Tis thine to brave the bounding tide, 



r^OVB'S SORROW. 117 

'Tis thine o'er the wild waves to g"lide; 
'Tis thine to bid farewell to peace — 
The victim of man's low caprice. 
But death ends all our strug-g-les, and 
Death also stills the heart and hand; 
And they who suffer pains and woes, 

Find rest in that eternal sleep, 
Which comes alike to friends and foes, 

And dims the eye that vainly weeps. 

So she, of whom I now would sing-, 

Soug-ht peace and rest in Poison's bowl; 

Death had no terror in his sting- 
For her poor, weary soul. 

'Tis even said she g-ently laughed 

When the dread poison quick she quaffed; 

Perhaps the thoug-ht that life's dull pain 

Would never come to her ag-ain, 

Broug-ht joy to her poor bleeding- heart 

And made her lips a smile impart. 

And who will say that her whose love 
Broug-ht tears of anguish to her eyes, 

Has not a scat in heaven above, 
A home in Paradise? 

And now in a lone mound she sleeps. 
Unmindful of life's cares and wrong's; 



118 LOVE'S SORROW. 

Above her ^rave a wild vine creeps, 

And song--birds sing* their evening" song-s. 

Her young" life ended ere the spring- 
Had passed away — yet festering" Care 

Did from her soul such sorrow wring" 
That youth was withered by Despair. 

She gave her all for one she loved — 
To g"ain his love she wept and prayed; 

But time, alas! too deeply proved 
She only loved to be betrayed. 

But who will say she was to blame? 
This child of love, this child in years! 

Did not another cause her shame? 
Did she not suffer endless fears? 

Cold is the one who would condemn 
A heart whose fault it was to trust; 

A blig"hted bud, a broken stem. 

That soon must turn to silent dust. 

October i, IQOS. 



THE WANDERER. 119 



THE WANDERER. 

A Narrative. 



TO COL. WILLIAM GREEN STERETT. 

My Dear Stekett: 

In dedicating- to you this, the long-est, and perhaps not 
the least thoughtful, of my poetical efforts, I trust I do not 
impose upon a friendship which I reg"ret only because the 
years it has existed are not greater in number. Should the 
poem outlive the author, then it will be all the more grati- 
fying- to me to reflect that it is associated with the name of 
one in whose society I have spent some of the pleasantest 
moments of my life, and who, by his unswerving friend- 
ship, has bound to him a heart which I hope will never 
know the baseness of ingratitude. Words of sincerity are 
not flattery, and I only honor myself and these pages in at- 
tempting to bestow praise on so true and tried a friend — on 
one whose generosity I have experienced on more than one 
occasion — on one whose talent has been to tne a guiding 
light; — on yourself. It was my intention to end this Nar- 
rative on the banks of the Mississippi — that mighty river 
whose shores resounded with the roar of Jackson's cannon 
on that ever-memorable January day in 1815; that first re- 
echoed the eloquence of the immortal Prentiss; that floated 
on its bosom the bark of Jean LaFitte — themes that we 
often discussed together and to which we never referred 
except with pleasure. I yet hope to weave into verse these 
interesting subjects, for while it would be a pleasure to me 
to pay a tribute to Jackson and to Prentiss, it would be no 
less pleasing to do justice to the memory of one who has 
been unjustly dealt with by history— to Jean LaFitte, the 
Patriot. Trusting, my dear Sterett, that this simple dedi- 
cation will cause you at least a portion of the gratification 



120 THE WANDERER. 

I have derived from writing- it, and wishing for you and 
yours a full measure of all that makes life worth the living", 
I am, in all sincerity, 

Your obliged servant 

And affectionate friend, 
Jeff. McLemore. 

Austi'ji, Texas, Sept. g, 1^03. 

The Wanderer, 
I. 

Some years ago, while still a beardless youth, 
And thus to while away my idle time, 

I taxed myself to write a tale or truth 

And tell what I might know in simple rhyme. 

I scribbled much, until one day, forsooth, 

Because my chimings did not somehow chime, 

And more, to appease my very youthful ire, 

I threw my manuscript into the fire. 

II. 

But hardly had my scribbling-s found their way 
Into the flames, than I felt some reg-ret, 

For I had toiled through many a night and day 
On what was then my passion and my pet; 

And it were needless for me now to say 
That I am rather fond of rhyming yet. 

For rhyming, in the bud or in the flower. 

Will lighten many a long and weary hour. 



THE WANDERER. 121 



III. 



But I'm no long-er now a beardless boy, 
And life is more a thorn than 'tis a rose; 

For me no more is there that passing joy 

Which comes to one before youth's summers close. 

And what were pleasures, only now annoy. 
And summer-time bring-s not its sweet repose. 

Still I have not forgot the way to rhyme, 

However much I feel the weight of time. 

IV. 

And after all these years, with hair turned gray,^ 

I once again resume my idle pen 
To trace on foolscap, feelings dull and gay, 

And tell what I might know of thinos and men. 
If any should my poor, lone Muse gainsay, 

Reserve your judgment, for of late she's been 
A little tired, and somewhat under weather, 
With one wing crippled by a broken feather. 

V. 

And with this short, but uncouth explanation, — 
This prelude to a poor and simple tale, 

1 "But now at tliirty years my linir is trrey— 
(I wonder wliat it will W like at forty?)" 

— Hijvon'f' "l)»m .lnan." 



122 THE WANDERER. 

I'll stretch my sails and head for that far station 
I started out to find — but should I fail, 

Then mine must be that heartfelt desolation 

Which comes with failure. — But till then, all 
hail!— 

What cares the world? and what will be the cost? — 

Why, if I fail then I have simply lost! 

VI. 

And have not others lost before me — more than I 

Could ever lose? And have they not survived? 

And have not others breathed a bitterer sigh 

Than I have known? And were they then 
deprived 

Of life and hope? No! clouds that ling-er nig"h 

Conceal sometimes the honey that is hived; 

And when we look beyond the sombre g'ray 

We find brig-ht flowers in the far-awa}-. 

VII. 

But I grow philosophical ere yet 

My story has commenced, which is not wise. 
Philosophizing sometimes brings regret, 

Unless 'tis placed before one in disguise. 
It makes us think of that we would forget. 

And looking for its meaning- hurts one's eyes. 



THE WANDERER. 123 

And as 'tis mine to please, and not give pain, 
I'll let it drop, and stretch my sails again. 

VIII. 

Did I say "sails?" Well, if I did I meant 
Sails but in theory — but you'll understand; 

'Tis a poetic license often lent 

To rhymesters in their wanderings on land. 

We say "our bark on her swift course is bent," 
When in full truth we're anchored "foot and 
hand." 

There's nothing nautical in this last expression, 

But 'tis thrown in to fill out this digression. 

IX. 

There was a time, but it is past, and why? 

Why dwell upon the things that once have been? 
It is in vain, for time goes fluttering by 

And what was once, is now a vanished scene. 
So let us only ponder with a sigh 

To think that we arc still above the green 
And chilly sod, which wraps this mortal form 
When the spirit's fled and the heart's no longer 

warm. 

X. 

And yet, who would forget all of his past? 

Who would not roam aj>-ain on boyhood's shore? 



124 THE WANDERER. 

Alas! when winter's leaves are falling- fast 
'Tis then we sig^h to think spring* is no more. 

And backward as our ling^ering- thoug-hts are cast — 
The scenes of youth, we doubly live them o'er. 

We sig-h to think that past is gone fore'er— 

That happy past, to memory ever dear! 

XI. 

In Tennessee, the land where I was born, 

A land where wave the willow and the cane; 

Where g-row brig-ht fields of cotton and of corn. 
My memory wanders o'er those scenes ag"ain. 

I hear the wild thrush sing^ing- in the thorn, 
I see the schoolboy tripping" down the lane; 

And then once more I dwell by that sweet stream 

That knew my 3'outh and laug"hed at my youth's 

dream. 

XII. 

In a loved cottag-e, in that sunn}^ land, 

(Far from the spot where I repose tonig^ht) 

Where frag-rant flowers grew on every hand, 

Where many a scene most pleasing met the sig"ht; 

There dwelt a youth, a sort of truant, and 

Some sa}' he was a rather "shameless wig"ht;"i 

1 "Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a yontli, 
Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight; 
But spent his days in riot most uncouth, 
And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. 
Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight, 
Sore given to revel and ungodly glee." 

—Jii/ion's "Childe Harold.'" 



THE WANDERER. 125 

Who lived obscure and sought not fame or g"lorv, 
And so I'll make him hero of m}^ story. 

XIII. 

And if at times, dear reader, you should find 
A slight resemblance 'tween this youth and me, 

Just pass it by, we both have the same mind, 
And may become as one^ for we will see 

Throug-h the same glasses, and become entwined 
Each with the other — not in vanity. 

But with the hope that each will do his part. 

And bring but pleasure to the other's heart. 

XIV. 

My hero worshipped those who loved him not. 
And so he parted from his boyhood's home; 

And mingling with the crowd was soon forgot 
And nothing then was left him but to roam. 

He wandered on until the mountains bro't 
His form within the shadow of their dome. 

And there he thought awhile to seek repose, 

And 'mid new scenes forget his earlier woes. 

XV. 

And often when the sun had sunk from view 
He sought the suinniit of some friendly peak. 



126 THE WANDERER. 

And there alone he watched the sky so blue 

Benig-nly smile upon the mountains bleak. 

In Nature he had found a friend most true — 

The mountains were his friends, and he could 
speak 

To them, and in them find an untold pleasure — 

A mag-ic sweetness in their wild winds' measure. 

XVI. 

Bleak Sangre de Cristo! often have I lain 

Upon thy summit, 'mid thy ling-ering^ snows, 

And gazed afar o'er fair San Luis' plain i 

Where many a crystal stream meandering- flows. 

And I recall sometimes, with half a pain, 
The pleasure I have found in such repose — 

Far from the haunts of men, with no one near, 

Save the loved mountains that I hold so dear. 



1 The view from Hayden's Pass, in the Sangre de Cristo range, is 
one of the finest I ever saw. On the east, one beholds the beautiful 
W^et Mountain Valley, while on the west the matchless San Luis Valley 
stretches far away to the Rio Grande del Norte, a distance of fifty miles. 
The first time I ever witnessed this delightful view was in the spring- 
time and just before sunset. The valley (I speak of the San Luis) was 
dotted with innumerable lakes that seemed as huge mirrors, while a 
number of pretty streams, fringed with willows, wound meanderingly 
along, adding to the height of the natural beauty. On the extreme 
western portion of the valley, a distance of at least fifty miles, one be- 
held a blue streak— caused by the trees bordering the Rio Grande, 
which formed the western boundary of the valley. The San Luis is one 
of the most fertile, as well as most beautiful, valleys in Colorado, and 
is owned principally by Englishmen, who have divided it into cattle 
ranches. The valley is more than a hundred miles long and fifty wide, 
and maintains several pretty towns and villages. 



THE WANDERER. 127 

XVII. 

I love the mountains, and I love the sea! 

I love their grandeur and the latter's roar; 
I only ask with either one to be — 

Upon the mountain top or wild sea-shore. 
They have an untold rhapsody for me 

Which grows the greater as I see them more. 
The former pleases with its towering height — 
The latter, with its boundlessness and might. 

XVIII. 

But loving friends must sever, and 'tis mine 

To leave these scenes of wild winds, "flood and 
fell;" 

Sad is the thought that I must nov/ resign 
The one fond spot where I so loved to dwell. 

And oh, kind reader! may it ne'er be thine 
To bid to that most dear a long farewell! 

And as the mountains slowly fade from view, 

I take one look and sadly say "adieu!" 

1. 

'Tis sad to part from some sweet spot 

Where pleasures lingered nigh; 
'Tis sad to feel we iire forgot 

By those for whom we sigh. 



128 THE WANDERER. 

2. 
'Tis sad to leave those cherished friends 

That brought us joy and peace; 
'Tis sad when sullen sorrow lends 

A g-rief that will not cease. 

3. 
But he whose fate it is to roam 

Must bear a hero's part; 
For him there is no hearth or home 

To claim his wayward heart. 

XIX. 

So wandering- on, new faces g-reet the eye, 
A lang-uag-e strang-e falls g-ently on the ear; 

Above, there seems to be a fairer skj^, 

Around, a beauteous country far and near. 

Brig-ht-plumag-ed birds flit here and there on hig-h 
Whose ceaseless song's are ever sweet to hear. 

It is the Land of Flowers! — beauteous land! 

Where Nature ever smiles serenely grand. 

XX. 

Fair maidens, with that loveliness of grace 

Which sends a thrill through all who may behold; 

With glorious eyes, where poets' pens might trace 
A brig-hter lustre than is found in gold, 



THE WANDERER. 129 

Move here and there with that enchanting- pace 
Which, often though attempted, ne'er is told. 
And a strang-e feeling- creeps into my breast, 
A feeling which makes everything- seem blest. 

XXI. 

Here Nature's brig-htest objects all are found — 
The g-lorious sun more brightly seems to shine; 

Around me seemed to be enchanted g-round, 

While fancies strange with memor^^ seemed to 
twine. 

In every echo there was a sweet sound, 
A lang-uid sweetness I cannot define. 

And Mexico waved her banner high above — 

The land of matchless Maidens and of Love! 

XXII. 

And as I g-azed enraptured on the scene 

I felt within my heart strange thoughts arise; 

Three hundred long and tedious years have been 
As naught in all that tends to civilize 

These simple people who care not to screen 
Their unenlightened meaning from the wise^ 

1 'I'll is stanza was written in 1883. Since tliat time Mexico, under 
tli'i wise efdidancc! of tlio illustrious Diaz, has maile wonderful i)roy:ress 
and advancement. In fact, she has pro^rcssed more in the last twenty 
yt^ar.s thati in the three huiidrc^d yciars precedintr that time. This may 
Siicm almost incriMlible. yet it is nevertheles.s true. — IDIW. 



130 THE WANDERER. 

Yet they seemed happy, and perhaps 'tis this 
That bring-s them joy, for ig-noratice is bliss. 

XXIII. 

Here in its humble home fair Beauty dwelt, 

Here lang^uid maidens breathed their ling'ering 
sighs; 

I saw the Holy Virgin where they knelt 

Look down upon them with soft streaming eyes. 

And those fair maids, whose glorious dark eyes melt 
Like summer stars in grey and azure skies, 

Have lived through many ages yet unsung, 

And thus to sing their joys my harp IVe strung: 

THE MAIDS OF MEXICO. 
1. 

The languid Maids of Mexico! 

Oh, how I love their glorious eyes! 
That like the brightest sapphires glow, 

So soft, so free from all disguise. 
They are more dazzling than each star 

That sparkles in the skies above; 
Like lightning they can flash in war — 

Like summer twilight, melt in love! 



THE WANDERER. 131 



The flowers thej give are not more fair 

Than her whose hands may bring- the posies; 
In dark waves falls her glossy hair — 

Her cheeks suffused with summer roses. 
And oftimes in the evening air 

I've watched their forms so coy and chary, 
Kneel down in sweet and silent prayer 

Before the shrine of blessed Mary. 



And then I've thought, oh, glorious Maid! 

Could I but sing thy charms divine, 
My feeble pen had not delayed 

To trace thine image on this line. 
But praise for thee is far above 

Kach fond, though vain attempt of mine; 
I only ask to share thy love 

And bask beneath such eyes as thine. 



And may those eyes through ages still 
Retain the fire that in them glows; 

And may each lovely vine-clad hill 

Upon whose top the wild-flower grows, 



132 THE WANDERER. 

Be alwaj'S green, and fresh, and fair. 
And kissed by summer dews and rains; 

And may the Maids who wander there 
Be free from sorrow's pan^s and pains. 

XXIV. 

Chihuahua! often do I think of thee! 

Thy lovely plazas — and thy time-worn tower 
That's stood the storm of many a century, 

An emblem of proud man's invested power. 
It were a pleasure with thee now to be, 

To hear thy sounding- bells ring- in each hour, 
Althoug-h there's one whose lingering- chime isg-one — 
A broken bell with but a broken tone.^ 

XXV. 

The Usurper's hand was placed upon thy brow. 
But slavery's chains full soon were rent in twain; 

1 When the army of the Emperor Maximilian, in 186—, drew up in 
front of Chihuahua and demanded the surrender of the city, the popu- 
lace, instead of complying with the d<niand, crowded into the Cathe- 
dral, believing they would find safety tliere and feeling that the Empe- 
ror's army would not dare to fire upon the sacred edifice. In this the 
people were mistaken, however, for after waiting a reasonable lengtli 
of time and seeing no white flag displayed, the invading armj^ fired a 
couple of cannon balls at the Cathedral, both of which were effective — 
one striking one of the towers, and the other cutting a large hole 
through one of the tower bells. The populace needed no more persuasion 
and the city was surrendered without further pai'ley. The broken bell 
remained hanging in the tower, but it was not sounded until the hoiii- 
of Maximilian's execution, when it clanged forth the event and every 
hour since then it has been sounded— its clanging tone reminding the 
people of Maximilian's death.— 1901. 



THE WANDERER. 133 

That broken bell is only sounded now 

To call th' Usurper's downfall back ag-ain. 

His triumph o'er thy people was in vain, 

And Time with dread, and 3^et resistless plow, 

But writes more deep upon the "mystic wall:" 

"Some day will mark each bold Usurper's fall I" ^ 

XXVI. 

Poor Maximilian! would a tenderer fate 
Had fallen to thy lot! — but that vain glory 

Which thy ambition sought to satiate, 
Was a delusion, a mere schoolboy's storj-. 

Thou camest! — Shall my trifling pen relate 
Thy coming, and then take an inventory 

Of thy misdeeds? — Alas, that fatal hour! 

Thou first resigned to a misguided hour! 

xxvn. 

"Ambition was the idol at whose shrine" 
Thou knelt with a devotion strong and deep; 

1 The friends and udniirers of the Emperor Maximilian will not 
admit that he deserved the name of "Usurper." Maximilian was no 
dou?jt misled by the importunities and offers of Mexican refugees in 
Spain, hut in accepting the crown from those who had no crown to 
{rive, still lie proved himself nil the appellation imi)li('s. whatever his 
intentions may have been. Leavintr his Ix'autifiil home on the shores 
of the Adi-jati*', perhaps the most Ix-antifiil home in I'^nrope,— he came 
to rei{;n over a people wlio were in a seini-liarharic state and who re- 
fnsed t(» acknowledtre as I']mpcror a descendapt of a Kintr of Spain. 



134 THE WANDERER. 

The joys of life, alas! thou did'st resig-ti 
Upon an Kmperor's g-ilded couch to sleep. 

But disappointment, sorrow, death were thine, 
And that fair bride who now was left to weep 

Above thy dust, saw all thy g-lories o'er, 

Then reason fled — her heart could hope no more.^ 

XXVIII. 

And now in an asylum, far away 

From Mexico's fair valleys, fresh and green, 
With the brig-ht dawn of each returning- day, 

A poor, demented creature oft is seen. 
Her mind is g-one, her life a simple play — 

It is Carlotta, once a beauteous queen. 

The thought of wearing a crown may not have been uppermost in tlie 
mind of Maximilian, but the Mexican people did not believe their condi- 
tion was to be alleviated by a foreign prince and they regarded the 
Austrian arch-diike as a usurper. The people rebelled, and were made 
the objects of many inhuman atrocities committed by the soldiers of 
the new Emperor. But, 

"Freedom's battle once begun. 
Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son, 
Though baffled oft is ever won," 

and in the end the people triumphed and Maximilian fell a victim to 
Mexican bullets. He was captured, through the treachery of one of his 
stalf. Col. Lopez, at Quaretaro, and shot with two of his generals, 
Miramon and Mejia, on the 19th day of -July, 1867. He showed the cour- 
age of a true prince when he was stood up to be shot. His remains were 
subsequently removed to Vienna. 

1 Carlotta, the beautiful wife of the Emperor Maximilian, never 
knew the unhappy fate of her husband. He had sent her to Paris to 
implore aid from Louis Napoleon, but by the time she reached the 
French capital her reason was dethroned— the victim, it is claimed, of a 



THE WANDERER. 135 

And all her hope is of a g-ilded throne, 
Unseen, invisible and forev^er g-one.^ 

XXIX. 

But such hath been, and such must ever be 
The fate of those who strive but to enthrall 

Their fellowmen, for a dread destiny 

Hang-s o'er each tyrant like a dismal pall. 

And Time will mark with closest scrutinj^ 
Each tyrant's triumph and ing-lorious fall, 

And all the world, with eager, straining- eye, 

Will view his downfall without tear or sigh. 

XXX. 

And had'st thou not, vain Kmperor, sought to plant 
Thy tyrant heel upon fair Freedom's neck. 

It might be now my task thy praise to chant, 
And thy false brow, with laurels g-reen bedeck. 

slow poison administered to her in Mexico, and which, while it destroys 
the reason, does not kill. The poison is obtained from a weed tliat 
grows wild in Mexico, and the native Indians are said to be adepts in 
administering it, The unfortunate Empress never regained her reason 
and up to this day she knows nothing: of the fate of her husband.— 1883. 

1 Carlotta was the daughter of Leopold 1.. King of the Belgians. 
After losing her reason she was taken care of by her people, who built 
for her a throne which slu^ has occupied almost daily, inuigining her- 
self a ((ueeti, her uttiMidants acting the part of faithful subjects and 
doing her (ivcry l)i(l(ling.— 1883. 



136 THE WANDERER. 

Alas, howe'er, thine was the Tyrant's cant,i 
A vain delusion, leading- to a wreck. 

A sing-le star that falls, but all alone, 

A moment dazzling" then forever g-one. 

XXXI. 

Thou cam'st to rule and trample in the dust 
A nation fettered by a slave's base chain; 

Thou migh'st have g-ained the name of being- just 
And placed this enslaved nation on the plane 

Of better nations, but thou would'st not trust 
To thine own heart, but let ambition vain 

But lead thee on to a mistaken power — 

A trembling- throne vvhich lasted but an hour. 

XXXII. 

But 'tis not mine to judg-e thy faults and errors. 
So I will leave thee in thy silent tomb; 

In life thy part was played to flattering- hearers 
Whose vain applause, while life was in its bloom, 

Re-echoed far, but like thy courtly bearers 

Fled from thee when, alas! the thickening- g-loom 

1 I may do Maximilian an injustice in calling him a "tyrant." I do 
not believe at heart he was tyrannical and no doubt the unfortunate 
position in which he found himself made it necessary for him to com- 
mit many acts that seemed tyrannous to the struggling Mexicans. Self- 
preservation is nature's first law. 



THE WANDERER. 137 

Had g-athered round — but when the act is played 

And we must fall, there is no hand to aid. 

XXXIII. 

Still, Mexico, thou art a land of dreams, 
A land of love, of romance and of song"; 

Thy valleys, bless'd by never-ceasing' streams, 
That murmur sweetly as they glide along-, 

Beneath a sky that ever fondly beams — 

Thy towering- mountains, lofty, grand and strong-. 

Thine is a land where moments seem the fleetest — 

Thine is a land where twilig-ht hour seems sweetest. 

XXXIV. 

Sweet hour of twilight, ever blessed hour! ^ 

That steals across the heart like childhood's dream ! 

So soft, so sweet, that its enchanting power 
Wakes in the burdened heart a purer stream. 

Life has its thorn, alike its fairer flower. 
But thou, in thy soft beauty makes us seem 

Unmindful of the thorns — oh, let me be 

Forg-etful of all else, sweet hour, but thee! 

1 The twilierbfs in Mexico are extremely beautiful :ui(l arc calculated 
to inspire anyone with a poetic feeliny. I state this in ordi'r to defend 
myself atrainst the charere of plajriarisni, and because some critic may 
discover tluit my stanzas ou the Mexican twilitrht are a poi>r imitation of 
certain stanzas to be found in third canto of "Don .luan." I!t0;}. 



138 THE WANDERE:R. 



XXXV. 



The dark blue sky takes on a deeper hue, 

The song--birds tell the twilig-ht hour has come; 

The flowers awake to kiss the fresh'ning- dew, 
The toiler seeks his humble cottag-e home. 

And time steals on — alas, how doubly true! — 

While sounds the deep bell from some neig-hbor- 
ing- dome. 
No fairer scene e'er met the wondering- eye — 
An autumn sunset in a cloudless sky. 

XXXVI. 

All nature smiles and peace broods o'er the land, 
And toiling- souls seek rest and sweet repose; 

While here and there some youthful, joyous band 
Seems happier that the day draws to its close. 

And some fond lover clasps a soft, sweet hand, 
Forg-etful of life's troubles and its woes. 

And finds sweet rapture in the twilig-ht hour, 

Which smiles alike in hall and leafy bower. 

XXXVII. 

Oh, blessed hour! and still more dear to me! 

Thou bringest pleasure to my weary soul; 
I find a silent rhapsody in thee 

Which words of mine can praise not nor extol; 



THE WANDERER. 139 

I only ask that such an hour may be 

When time shall call for me the final roll. 
With thee, oh, let my parting- spirit sink! 
And let my soul, sweet hour, thy glory drinki 

XXXVIII. 

Yet this fair land, where nature ever smiles, 

Where every moon-beam seems more soft and 
sweet; 

Where every bright and radiant flow'r beg-uiles, 
Where each g-reen valley is a blest retreat; 

Where only man's accursed vice defiles, 
Where maidens kneel at the sweet Mary's feet; — 

Yes, this fair land has felt both sword and flame, 

Even from the time the first Invaders came. 

XXXIX. 

Those first InvadersI — Here my pen must fail 
To tell the woes they brought to thy fair clime. 

Theirs was the darkest and the bloodiest trail 
That e'er was blazed in the whole course of Time. ^ 

With sword and torch, o'er mountain, plain and vple, 
They swept — a murdered nation was their crime. 

1 History furnishes no parallel to the atrocities committed by thr 
army of (Jortcz. The Spanish invader was a nnm of dauntless courairr, 
and bcintr as cruel as lie was courasreous, niurderin^r the uni'nliirhteneil 
Mexicans was t<» him "an atrreeal)le i»astime," as one writer states it. 



140 THE WANDERER. 

Yet there was something- in their deed so bold 
One cannot help admire when all is told. 

XL. 

Compared to those they came to crush and kill, 
They were a handful, yet they knew no fear; i 

Their leader was a man of wondrous skill 
Who knew not infant's wail or woman's tear. 

There was no law but his despotic will, 
To him no ties were sacred, blest or dear. 

He wag-ed a war of conquest and of gain; 

He claimed a New World for a King of Spain. 2 

xu. 

His was a courage fiercer than the storm, 

A courage worthy of a better cause; 
A heart of steel which only strife could warm, 

A grasp relentless as the eagle's claws. 
Of knightly valor and of kingly form, 

The maker of his own despotic laws. 
He brought his army to this land to stay, 
And burnt his ships so none could get away.^ 

1 The army of Cortez numbered less than five hundred men, yet 
they came to subjugate millions, and they succeeded. The story of 
their conquest is stranger than fiction. 

2 Charles V. This information is not intended for the wise, but only 
for those who may have forgotten and who have not the time to tui-n to 
their history. 

3 "In this emergency, he came to the decision, of almost unpar- 
alleled boldness, to '^6s/'/-o///Ae,/76e('. He would thus place himself in a 
distant land, with but five hundred men, hopelessly cut off from all re- 



THE WANDERER. 141 

XLII. 

A strug-g-le then of life and death beg"an — 
With the Invaders there was no retreat; 

Theirs was that marvelous and that mig-hty plan 
Whose story makes the heart with wonder beat. 

A strang^er story is not ours to scan, 

And time, perhaps, will ne'er ag-ain repeat 

A deed more daring-, desperate or bold, 

Than this of those proud Cavaliers of old. 

XLIII. 

Here in a land where they were strang-ers all, 

(A. band of scarce five hundred active men); 

They came to conquer and to rise or fall 

And plant the Cross where Darkness long- had 
been. 

They came with powder, flint and leaden ball, 

And proved the sword was mig-htier than the pen. 

They warred with millions — desperate was their 
aim — 

They murdered, butchered in Relig"ion's name.- 

troat, and exposed to assault from exasperated nations numbering: 
millions. This plan was no sooner conceived than executed. * * " 
When tlie soldiers heard of this desperate deed, they were struck with 
consternation. * * * They at once saw that nmnnurs would l)e of no 
avail; that their destiny was henceforth (>iitirely dependejit ujion their 
ob(Mli(!nce to their leadcu'."— [ Al)h()tt's History of Hernando Cort«'z. 

2 While butchering: the natives, Cortez never failcMl to rc'turn thanks 
to the Almitrhty for his victories, and in phicr of the idols he destroyed, 
he erected the Catholic cross. 



142 THE WANDERER. 

XLIV. 

Naug-ht could resist them, like the tempest's rage 
They swept across the land with withering- blig-ht; 

The idols that were worshipped many an age 

Were crushed and broken. In their strength and 
might 

They wrote for history such another page 

As ne'er before or since has met the sight. 
They put an end to human sacrifices, 
But in their stead left other human vices. 

XLV. 

Yet those they came to conquer and destroy. 
Met them with valor such as poets sing; 

But with crude weapons, playthings for a boy, 
The simple bow, the arrow and the sling — 

These children of false gods, with natures coy, 
Could not withstand the deadly cannon's ring. 

And bowing to the will of Spanish might. 

They learned, alas! that Spanish might makes right. 

XLVI. 

They then became a nation of base slaves. 
Weak subjects of the king of Old Castile, 

Who sent his arms across the boundless waves 
To place their neck beneath the tyrant's heel. 



THE WANDERER. 143 

They strug'g'led for their own, but countless graves 

Record the triumph of the Spaniard's steel. 
They yielded to a cruel foreig-n nation — 
Sunk in the lowest depths of degradation. 

XLVII. 

The idols which they worshipped fell away, 
Their temples crumbled into silent dust; 

It was to them the dawn of a black day, 
A day of sorrow and of cankering rust; 

And strangely did they watch their conquerors pray 
To One they deemed was cruel and unjust. 

They could not understand how ?ijust God 

Could bid his followers scourge them with the rod. 

XLVIII. 

And through long ages did they play the part 

Of willing slaves to a disdainful foe; 
For centuries did they feel the cruel smart 

Of cutting lash laid on with heartless blow. 
Naught came to cheer their bleeding savage heart, 

And bitterest pain was mixed in all their woe. 

They bent the knee, life's hopes and joys were o'er; 

They kissed the ground which now was theirs no 
more. 



144 THE WANDERER. 

XLIX. 

But Tyranny cannot forever thrive, 

And tyrants live their little day and die; 

However hard they strug-g-le, toil and strive 
They cannot chang-e the course of Destiny. 

And slumbering- embers are too oft alive 
And leap into a flame that tints the sky. 

And Mexico at one eventful stroke, 

At last threw^ off the cruel Spanish yoke. 

Iv. 

But, Mexico, I bid thee now farewell! 

Thy mountains g-reen and greener valleys still; 
I fain would long-er in thy sunshine dwell 

To roam again o'er each romantic hill. 
But now the time has come to break the spell 

Which love has woven in my heart and will. 
And so farewell to thy fair vales and skies. 
Thy languid maids and their more languid sighs. 

LI. 

But ere I g^o there is one noble name 

That should be stamped upon these idle pages; 
For it is linked with honor and with fame 

To live and flourish through succeeding ages. 



THE WANDERER. 145 

A name that's free from censure and from blame, 

The name of one of Earth's maturest sag^es. 
That name is Diaz ^ — g-reatest of his kind — 
A mig-hty ruler both in heart and mind. 

LII. 

His virtues are the virtues of the g^reat, 
His name alone has mag^ic in its sound; 

A mig-hty ruler both of Church and State, 

'Twas left for him to heal his country's wound. 

His was the steady, g-uiding- Hand of Fate 
That broug-ht his country at a sing-le bound 

To that proud state which none can now g'ainsay — 

A land that calls from me this heartfelt lay: 

MEXICO, FAIR MEXICO! 
1. 

There is a charm in thy brig-ht skies, 

Mexico, fair Mexico! 
That fills the heart with g-lad surprise, 

Mexico, fair Mexico! 

1 Diaz is a nanu! that will livo for all time to oomc. For nearly a 
quarter of a century he has ruled the destinies of Mexico and under his 
wise administration his country has «:rown in greatness to a degree that 
is almost beyond hunum conception. — 1903. 



146 THE WANDERER. 

There summer's zeph^-rs gently rise, 
There sing- the birds of Paradise, 
There softer seem the lover's sig-hs, 
Mexico, fair Mexico! 

2. 
I love thy mountains and thy dells, 

Mexico, bright Mexico! 
I love the sound of thy sweet bells, 

Mexico, bright Mexico! 
'Tis there the softest music swells, 
'Tis there the fairest maiden dwells, 
'Tis there the youth his passion tells, 

Mexico, bright Mexico! 

8. 

The music of thy crystal streams, 

Mexico, loved Mexico! 
Is sweet as childhood's blissful dreams, 

Mexico, loved Mexico! 
'Tis there that languid nature beams, 
'Tis there the rose more perfect seems, 
'Tis there the air with incense teems, 
Mexico, loved Mexico! 

4. 

The sweetness of thy maidens fair, 
Mexico, sweet Mexico! 



THE WANDERER. 147 

Dispels each thoug-ht of pain and care, 

Mexico, sweet Mexico! 
'Tis theirs to drive away despair, 
'Tis theirs to mingle love with prayer, 
When danger comes 'tis theirs to dare, 

Mexico, sweet Mexico! 



When foreign foes from far away, 

Mexico, brave Mexico! 
Clashed with thy sons in war's array, 

Mexico, brave Mexico! 
When on thy prairies bleeding lay. 
Brave foemen in thir Southern gray. 
There knelt the Maids of Monterey, 

Mexico, brave Mexico! 

6. 

Oh, may thy glories never cease, 

Mexico, fair Mexico! 
And may thy splendor still increase, 

Mexico, fair Mexico! 
'Tis thine to bless and thine to please. 
Thine be the fame of Ancient Greece, 
Thine be a land of love and peace, 

Mexico, fair Mexico! 



148 THE WANDERER. 

LIII. 

I stood once more beside the Rio Grande, 
And saw the sun rise o'er the eastern plain; 

I saw it smile upon a g-lorious land 

Where Freedom's banner does not wave in vain. 

I felt the mag-ic of that sunrise, and 

I breathed the welcomed breezes once ag-ain. 

It was o'er Texas' plains I g-lanced along- 

Those plains told often both in pro^e and song*. 

LIV. 

Fair Texas! country of my boyhood's dream! 

Well mayest thy sisters call thee Empire State! 
For thy green plains and greener valleys teem 

With all that makes thee either blest or great. 

Thou art even more than thou perchance may'st 
seem — 
The favored child of an o'er-generous fate. 
And thy Lone Star shines brig-hter than the rest — 
A Star eternal and forever blest. 

LV. 

Thy g-lories are not questioned, and thy name 
Now forms the brig-htest part of Glory's pagfe; 

Thy freedom dearly bought with sword and flame 
Gains greater lustre with advancing* age. 



THE WANDERER. 149 

While those who strug-g"led for thee left a fame 

Brig-ht as the lig-htning's when they flash in rag-e. 
They were grand heroes, battling- to be free, 
Beneath the g'lorious Flag- of Liberty. 

LVI. 

Their strug-gie was a brave one, bitter, long-. 
But they were Spartans each and everyone; 

Armed in the rig-ht it made them still more strong-, 
And they were g-uided by fair Freedom's sun. 

They triumphed! — Rig-ht must triumph over Wrong-, 
And Freedom's g'lorious battle once begun 

Must end in victory, yet many a noble life 

Was yielded up in the uneven strife. 

LVII. 

In Goliad there is a g-ranite tomb, 

A silent witness of the foulest crime 
That ever filled a strug"g-ling' land with g-loom — 

A crime so bloody that throughout all time 
It will cry out aloud of those whose doom 

Made of them martyrs. — Oh, for words sublime! 
That I might tell with an undying- breath 
How Fannin and his comrades met their death! ^ 

1 Ool. .John ('. Duval, one of the survivors of tlio (Joliiid inassiu'ri'. 
in nil interestiuu little book ('iititlcd "Early Times in Texas," says when 
Col. Fannin left (ioliail liis "whole force comprised about two hundred 



150 THE WANDERER. 

IvVIII. 

It was the darkest deed that ever thrilled ^ 

The heart of man, or echoed throug-h the world; 

A deed so dark no butcher ever willed 

A darker one — here Murder's dart was hurled 

And g^enerous hearts forevermore were stilled 

While Freedom's blood-stained flag- was sadly 
furled. 

Prisoners of war! all murdered in cold blood, 

And left upon the plain for vultures' food. 2 

LIX. 

The old stone church where first they were confined. 
Is standing- still, thoug-h falling- to decay; 

and fifty men, besides a small company of artillery and twenty-five 
mounted men under Col. Horton." The mounted men were sent ahead 
to reconnoitre and being cut off by the Mexicans, who suddenly ap- 
peared in large numbers, found it impossible to rejoin their command 
and most of them made their escape. Those with Fannin were ulti- 
mately surrendered to the Mexicans, as were also those under Col. Ward 
at Refugio, numbering about one hundred and fifty, and those under 
Maj. Miller at Copano, numbering about eighty, making a grand total of 
nearly five hundred men who were to be made the victims of Santa 
Anna's cruelty. 

1 "On that morning (Palm Sunday, March 27, 1836), the prisoners* * 
were marched out in four divisions and cruelly shot to death by their 
guards. Of the more than four hundred prisoners only twenty-seven 
escaped and made their way to the American settlements."— [The Texas 
Magazine. 

2 "When the terms of capitulation had been fully decided upon, 
(iren. Urrea and his secretary and interpreter capae into our lines with 
Col. Fannin, where it was reduced to writing, and an English transla- 



THE WANDERER. 151 

About the walls some weeds and vines are twined, 
A safe retreat, where toads and lizzards play. 

'Tis hard to picture in the human mind 

The horror of that dark and bloody day, 

When from this church they were marched forth 
and told 

That each and everyone would be "paroled." i 

LX. 

But their "parole" was an untoward fate — 
Shot down like dog-s and left upon the plain 

Was their sad lot, nor need I now relate 
How wantonly and fiercely the}' were slain. 

It were enoug-h to write on History's pag^e 
This devilish deed that e'er v^ill be a stain 

tioii ffiven to Col. Fannin, which was read to our men. I am thus par- 
ticular in statinfr what I know to be the facts in regard to this capitula- 
tion, because 1 have seen it stated that Gen. Santa Anna always asserted 
there was no capitulation, and that Col. Fannin surrendered at discre- 
tion to Gen. Urrea. * * * Gen. Urrea, I believe, never denied the 
fact of the capitulation, and I have been informed, when the order was 
sent him by Santa Anna to execute the prisoners he refused to carry it 
into effect, and turned over the command to a subaltern. 1 have 
always believed myself that Gen. Urrea entered into the capitulation 
with Col. Fannin in sfood faith, and that the massacre of the prisoners 
* * * was by the express order of Santa Anna, and against the 
remonstranrc of (aen. Urrea."— ["Early Times in Texas," by Col. John 
C. Duval. 

1 '*On the morning of the 27th of March (1S36), a Mexican olliii-r 
came to us and ordenid us to get I'eady for a march. lie told us we were 
to be liberated on 'parole,' and that arrangements had been nuide t«i 
send us to New Orleans on board of the vessels then at Copano. This, 
yon maybe sure, was .joyful news to us, and we lost wo time in making 



152 THE WANDERER. 

Upon the Book of Time! — but none e'er knew 
A deed so dark and yet so doubly true. 

LXI. 

Unlike the heroes of the Alamo, 

Who foug"ht and battled to the bitter end, 

They had surrendered to a conquering- foe 

And felt that safety which sweet hope can lend 

To hearts in trouble— little did they know 

The fiends with whom 'twas theirs to then contend. 

Prisoners of war! each murdered where he stood, 

And left to welter in his own heart's blood. 

preparations to leave our uncomfortable quarters. When all was ready 
we were formed into three divisions and marched out under a stronir 
guard. As we passed some Mexican women who were standing near 
the main entrance to the fort, we heard them say 'probrecitos' (poor fel- 
lows), but the incident at the time made but little impression on my 
mind. * * * ^ strong guard accompanied us, marching in double 
files on both sides of our column. It occurred to me that this division 
of our men into three squads, and marching us off in three directions, 
was rather a singular maneuver, but still I had no suspicion of the foul 
play intended us. When about half a mile above town a halt was made 
and the guard on the side next the river filed around to the opposite 
side. Hardly had this maneuver been executed, when I heard a heavy 
firing of musketry in the directions taken by the other two divisions. 
Some one near me exclaimed, 'Boys! they are going to shoot us!' and 
at the same time I heard the clicking of musket locks all along the 
Mexican line. I turned to look, and as I did so, the Mexicans fired upon 
las, killing probably one hundred out of the one himdred and fifty in 
the division. We were in dovible file and I was in the i-ear rank. The 
man in front of me was shot dead, and in falling he knocked me down. 
* * * When I rose to my feet I found that the whole Mexican line had 
charged over me, and were in hot pursuit of those who had not been 
shot and who were fieeing towai-ds the river aboiit five hundred 
yards distant. I followed on after them, for I knew that escape in any 
other direction (all open prairie) would be impossible, and I had nearly 



THE WANDERER. 153 

LXII. 

But such foul deeds will always, soon or late, 

Meet the reward so justly they deserve; 

And there is justice in that unseen fate 

Which steels the sword and g^iv^es the heart fresh 
nerve. 

They were aveng^ed, and thus I dedicate 

To their avengers (who ne'er once did swerve 

From Duty's path) this unpoetic song- 

Which tells of strugg'les bitter, fierce and long*: 

1. 

When Glor}^ draws her sacred sword 

To smite the g-round where tyrant's tread, 

And hurls the dark, avenging word 
Of "Freedom!" at each tyrant's head. 

Earth, Ocean, Air and Nature's all 

Will smile to see such tyrants fall. 

reached the river l>efore it became necessary to make my way throuerh 
tlie Mexican line ahead. As I did so, one of the sohliers charffod upon 
nu) with liis bayonet (his {run, I suppose, beiriff empty.) As he drewliis 
musket hack to make a luufjfe at me one of our men, coming: from an- 
other direction, ran between us and the bayonet was driven tliroutrh liis 
body. The bUjw was {riven witli such force, that in fallintr the man 
j)rol)ably wrenched or twistcul the l)ayonet in such a way as to prevent 
the Mexican from withdrawinsr it immediately. I saw him put his foot 
upon the man and make an ineffectual attempt to extricate the bayonet 
from his body, l)ut one; look satisfied me * * * jvnd I hastened to the 
Itank of th(! I'iver and plunycd in. * * * licliis; a «roud swimnicr. I 
soon traiiKMl the opi)()site bank, untouched by any of the bullets that 
were patterintr in tlie water around my hvad."— | "Karly Tinie-i in 
Texas," by Col. .John ('. Duval. 



154 THE WANDERER. 

2. . 
So was it on that Sabbath day ^ 

When in the fated Alamo, 
A band of Patriots stood at bay 

Before a base, yet conquering- foe. 
A fearless band — they stood alone — 
With frames of oak and hearts of stone. 

3. 
That morn beheld them high in life, 

Undaunted, brave, defiant all; 
That noon beheld them in a strife 

Which g-athered o'er them like the pall 
That hovers o'er the mighty dead 
Ere the last spark of life is fled. 

4. 

The Mexic hosts now swarm around 

In numbers ten or twenty fold; 
Their dead is heaped upon the g-round 

While still the fort the Patriots hold. 

1 The final assault on the Alamo was made on Sunday morning, 
March 6, 1836. The Mexican forces, under Gen. Santa Anna, numbered 
about 6,000 men; the American, under Col. William Barrett Travis- 
numbered, all told, less than 175. The Mexican loss in killed and 
wounded was variously estimated at from .2,000 to 2,500, the killed alcne 
amounting to about 1,600. The American loss is best told in the words 
inscribed on the monument erected to the memory of the defenders of 
the Alamo, and which are as follows: 

"Thermopylae had her messenger of defeat. 
But the Alamo had none." 



THE WANDERER. 155 

Again the}" charg-e, yet charge in vain, 
And then recoil to charge again. 

5. 

Like sheep unto the slaughter driven, 
So are they hurled ag-ainst the walls; 

With dying screams the air is riven 
As many a swarthy foeman falls. 

But onward urged by tyrant chief 

In death they seek and find relief. 



But as the storm grows fierce and wild. 
The Patriot band sees hope is fled; 

All thought of victory is exiled — 
Around is heaped the Spartan dead. 

Few, few are left to fight and die. 

But these still strike for Liberty. 



At length within the wall is made 
A breach wherein the foemen pour; 

In death each Patriot low is laid, 
And soon the gory strife is o'er. 

The Tyrant won, but on that plain 

Lie hundreds of his fallen slain. 



156 THE WANDERER. 

8. 
And ill that Fated Alamo 

There perished many a noble soul, 
But as the days shall come and go 

Their names will be on Glory's roll. 
They made a new Thermopylae 
And died, that Texas mig-ht be free. 

• 9. 
There Crockett fell, and Travis, too. 

And Bowie,! bravest of the brave; 
And other heroes grand and true 

Who fell to fill a Patriot's grave. 
Their's be the glory, their's the love 
Ktitwined with Freedom's glorious move. 

10. 

And as the years shall roll around 

The poet's song will fondly tell 
How on this consecrated ground 

These noble heroes fought and fell. 
Posterity will crown w4th fame 
Each hero's death — each hero's name. ^ 

1 Crockett, Travis and Bowie! Tliese names are immortal, and like 
that of Leonidas will live for all time to come. Marble shafts commem- 
orating their deeds may crumble to dust, but the Alamo, like Thermop- 
ylaB, is imperishable. 

2 The Alamo fell before the Goliad massacre took place, but in men- 
tionini? the latter first in this Narrative. I have simply followed a plan 
which best suited my purpose and which, I think, does not detract any 
from my story. 



THE WANDERER. 15: 



IvXIII. 



The Alamo today is standing- there — 

A venerable pile of stone and clay; 
Here many pause to offer up a prayer 

Against the hand of Ruin and Decay. 
Thoug"h it should be each patriot's tenderest care, 

The Alamo is crumbling- fast away. 
Cannot our Empire State take a just pride 
In these old walls, where such brave martyrs died? 

LXIV. 

Will it be said by future generations, 

That their forefathers were a thankless lot? 

Will not the plea of other feeling- nations 
Inspire our love for this all-hallowed spot? 

Shall we forg-et our sacred obligations? 
Are we so base that past deeds are forg-ot? 

Awake, ye Texans! be no longer dumb — 

Preserve the Alamo for all time to come. 

LXV. 

There Liberty was born! and shall we then 
Stand idly by and see this old pile fall? 

Can we not tind among- the sons of men 

Those who will strive Time's ruin to lorostall? 



158 THE WANDERER. 

Cannot our State, I ask it once ag-ain, 

Spread its protecting- wing- o'er this, o'er all? 
Arise, oh, Texas! ere it be too late. 
And save these walls from an untoward fatel^ 

LXVI. 

"Where is the ground that should be more revered? 

Where is the spot deserving- more our love? 
Are not the deeds of glory most endeared 

When those who make them by their valor prove 
That they were martyrs? — Are our minds so seared 

That memories of the past no longer move 
Our hearts to reverence for the mighty dead? 
Must we forget the spot where martyrs bled? 

LXVII. 

Where is the land, of high degree or low, 
(That ever felt the force of cruel war) — 

What land can proudl}^ claim an Alamo? 

There is but one — the Land of the Lone Star! 

1 Since this and the two preceding stanzas were written, the work 
of preserving the Alamo has been undertaken by a young lady, a native 
Texan, who deserves far greater praise than it is in my power to bestow. 
This lady is Miss Clara Driscoll, and the effort she is making to protect 
from Time's "effacing fingers" the historic walls deserves the com- 
mendation and support of every loyal Texan. At her request, the 
Twenty-eighth Legislature made a small appropriation to assist her in 
her noble work, but it was left for a Governor of the State to put his 
veto on the Legislature's gift and by so doing proclaim to the world 



THE WANDERER. 159 

Texas alone so famed a spot can show, 

Look as we may, however near or far. 
A monument unparalleled on earth — 
The place that g-ave to Texan Freedom birth. 

LXVIII. 

But I dig-ress, and yet I love digression — 
It takes one from the old and beaten road; 

It sometimes helps to drive away depression 
And lig-htens in some way the scribbler's load. 

And if it has not quite fulfilled its mission 
It has, at least, in this one instance shoiued 

That one needs nothing more than words that chime 

To help him on when he starts out to rhyme. 

LXIX. 

But where is he, the hero of my theme? 

The idle Wanderer of this idle lay? 
'Tis well that we awake him from his dream 

To still pursue his lone and cheerless way. 
And if the world prove not what it may seem. 

If for him there should be one ling-ering ray 

that Texas lias no patriotism wlierc a few paltry dollars arc concerned. 
Miss Driscoll is undanntcd, however, and h;is appealcMl to the people 
direct to assist with small contributions in the great work she has 
undertak(!n, and it is frratifyintr to state that her appeal is n»)t heintr 
made in vain, many who do not kwk^w live; in the Statu sending' in their 
mite.-li)03. 



160 THE WANDERER. 

Of hope — then he has wandered not in vain, 
And joy may yet be mixed with all his pain. 

LXX. 

Yet, how can joy bring- rapture to a soul 
That knew so many sorrows in the past? 

That wept with miserj^ it could not control? 
That saw its skies by darkness overcast? 

Were that the all of life? were that the whole? — 
I can but feel a day will come at last 

With cloudless skies — a day serenely fair, 

When Joy will smile above both Woe and Care. 

LXXI. 

But yet the past I do not all reg-ret, 

For there are moments that were ever blest; 

Some faces that I would not now forg-et, 

Some lips that smiled more sweetly than the rest. 

And if there bloomed for me one violet, 
Its memory still lives fondly in my breast. 

There, too, are names I knew and days ^one by 

Which I recall sometimes with half a sig"h. 

LXXII. 

And dearest of them all is Genevieve — 
A name that has been ever dear to me; 



THE WANDERER. 161 

Her's was a friendship that did not deceive, 
A friendship true through all eternity. 

And if loved recollections fondly v^eave 

Sweet fancies round my heart — if I can see 

A bright tomorrow through the clouds so drear, 

'Tis that I share the thoughts of one so dear. 

LXXIIl. 

Sweet Genevieve! friend of my boyhood's j-ears! 

Thine was a friendship none could ever change; 
And if thou felt for me when Sorrow's tears 

Flowed from my soul to find a wider range; 
If sometimes when my heart was bowed with fears, 

And envious minds sought only to estrange. 
In thy sweet might thou stood'st serenely fast 
To shield me from the blight of Slander's blast. 

LXXIV. 

'Tis said that Friendship is more strong than Love, 
Howe'er that be, this much I surely know — 

That Friendship is as gentle as a dove. 
While Love is like an eagle — is't not so? 

Does not the (Mie its truth by kindness prove? 
Does not the other sometimes give a blow? 

One is a passion that will end with death — 

The (;ther is too oft a passing- breath. 



162 THE WANDERER. 

IvXXV. 

Yet I have loved, and I have had my heart 
Seared as v^ith iron in its whitest heat; 

Yet without murmuring" did I bear my part 
Nor count the bitter cost of low deceit. 

And if Love's pangs have sometimes made me start, 
I only know some moments were most sweet. 

And after all, do not the joys of life 

Outweigh the sorrows of Deceit and Strife? 

LXXVI. 

The Poet says, and maybe he is right, 

That he who loves and loses — mark it well — 

Is better oif, whate'er may be his plig-ht, 
Than he who has not loved at all. I tell 

All this without concern, but when I write 
That I was once the victim of Love's spell, 

I know the world will think I seek relief 

By pouring- out a tale of woe and grief. 

LXXVII. 

And ere I should forget myself and grow 

Too trustful with the world, I'll take a tack, 

As sailors say, when winds ag^ainst them blow, 
And in my beaten path once more g*et back. 



THE WANDERER. 163 

I left my Wanderer at the Alamo 

Which was o'erwhelmed by a bloodthirsty pack. 
So my Narration I'll once more beg-in, 
And tell of war and of the battle's din. 

LXXVIIl. 

The Alamo, as I have said before, 

Became the spoil of base and treacherous foes; 
Its every stone was bathed in human g^ore, 

But from its blood-stained walls to heaven there 
rose 
A cry of Veng"eance — and the cannons' roar 

At San Jacinto echoed back to those 
Who triumphed on that dark and bloody day, 
A sound more dread than words can e'er portray. 

LXXIX. 

It was the voice of an aveng-ing- God 

That echoed far o'er San Jacinto's plain; 

Here Houston came to smite with chastening rod 
The murderers of his comrades foully slain. 

Here traitorous blood dyed deeply the g"reen sod, 
Here Texan valor did not strike in vain. 



164 THE WANDERER. 

And the self-styled Napoleon of the West^ 
Exchang-ed for peon's rag-s his purple vest.^ 

LXXX. 

The day was one in April, brig-ht and clear, ^ 

When Houston's army numbering- scarce six 
hundred, 

But all with hearts that knew no doubt or fear, 

Swept o'er the plain, while cannons roared and 
thundered. 

Naug-ht could resist their wild and deafening cheer, 

And then a world looked on and simply wondered. 

A straggling- band, thoug-h armed in truth and right, 

Victorious o'er a force of trebled might. 

LXXXI. 

It was a triumph such as none ere knew, 

A victory that will live throughout all time; 

1 Santa Anna styled himself the "Napoleon of the West," But no 
one else ever thought of comparing him with the hero of Marengo. 

2 When Gen. Santa Anna was captured at San Jacinto, he was 
dressed in the uniform of a private, which he had donned for the pur- 
pose of disguising himself. The disguise would have worked all right 
had not a button on his coat become unfastened, thereby revealing fine 
linen and diamond studs underneath, and which his captors knew could 
not belong to a private soldier. 

3 The battle of San Jacinto was fought on the 21st day of April, 1836, 
and it is told of Gen, Houston, that when he awoke on that eventfuj 
morn with the bright sunshine streaming in his face, he sprang to his 
feet and exclaimed: "It is the sun of Austerlitz!" 



the: wanderer. 165 

A Philippi, a dreaded Waterloo 

For one who was the chief of fiendish crime. 
"Here his last flig"ht the haug-hty eag-le flew," 

Here sunk the scourg^e of this benig-hted clime. 
Benighted then, benig-hted now no more, 
For here the Tyrant's pilgrimag-e was o'er.^ 

ivxxxn. 

On that fair plain today there is no sig-n 
Of that fierce strug-g-le of the long- ag-o; 

There g-row in beauty both the fig- and vine, 
And there the summer breezes softly blow. 

There myrtle leaves and woodbine entertwine. 
And there wild roses in profusion g-row. 

There is no marble shaft to tell the story 

Of Texan valor and of Texan g-lory.^ 



1 It is stated, l>ut not in history, that boinff a Mason of hiffh dcifroe 
saved the life of xSanta Anna at San Jacinto. In view of the butcheries 
lie committed at the Alamo and (Joliad, somethinir out of the ordinary 
un(l<)ubt(;(lly iut(;rvene(l to protect him from the wrath of those whose 
relatives had be(m murdered by his comnumd. 

2 This was written some years aefo and since thentht- State has pur- 
chased the historic l)attleH(dd and may in time erect a tittinir monu- 
ment thereon. — i;K);{. 



